


The Maid and Mr. Rockefeller

by dachenabritta



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 2000's rom com vibez, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben is mean and good at politics, Cunnilingus, F/M, HEA, M/M, Maid in Manhattan AU, Modern Era, New York City, Size Kink, Smut, Temiri is the real G of this story, a lot of confusion, a very chanel mess, mentions of trauma and child abuse, rey is a maid and kick ass foster mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25462033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dachenabritta/pseuds/dachenabritta
Summary: Rey Solana is twenty-two and an extremely hard working maid at Manhattan's elite hotel,Coruscant Astaria. When she's not cleaning sheets or scrubbing a toilet, Rey is raising ten-year-old Temiri, her foster brother who ran away and now lives in the Bronx with his foster sister.Ben Solo is New York State's feared and respected senator. With re-elections coming up soon, he'll be staying in the penthouse of Manhattan's best,Coruscant Astariafor a major press conference. His life is successful and profitable but empty.Or, a Reylo adaption of Maid in Manhattan.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 223
Kudos: 342





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> So I have hunted for a Maid In Manhattan au inspired by the 2002 film for SO LONG. I gave up looking for one and just decided to write it lol.
> 
> Some aspects of this story are directly based off the movie (watch it if you haven't before!) while some other plot points are very, _very_ different. The title is based off the real Chris Marshall, who was _actually_ Steven Clark Rockefeller, son of New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller. He married Anne-Marie Rasmussen, a maid who had worked at his family's Manhattan hotel. 
> 
> I'm so excited to start this and I hope it fulfills all your NYC and Cinderella dreams!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> DCB

In the heart of Manhattan, where two worlds collide like rain and heat in a thunderstorm, there's a separation much more important than money or class, but rather of the fearsome and the feeble of New York City.

Fearsome can take many forms. Sometimes it’s an elitist, hell bent on power. Or a bagel shop owner who makes a mean sandwich, literally and figuratively. Or it's a senator with campaign tactics meant to scare the hell out of all other candidates.

Sometimes, the fearsome _appear_ as the feeble. Weakness painted on a visage of poverty; a person capable of strength but cleverly hidden beneath a surface of oppression.

Rey Solana is twenty-two years old.

That’s it.

At twenty-two, she’s held a secure job for nearly six years at _Coruscant Astaria_ , where she makes three dollars over minimum and can choose flexible hours depending on her schedule. She’s quite lucky, if you ask anyone else in the Bronx. Rey’s practically been blessed by the inner-city Gods who dutifully watch over the lost and needy.

At twenty-two, she’s lived with five foster families, broken two bones and saved up enough to buy one single piece of clothing that did _not_ come from a secondhand store.

And at twenty-two, Rey is the unofficial foster mom of her previous foster brother, Temiri, who is ten years old and _worlds_ happier under the care of his previous foster sister rather than his current foster "parent".

Plutt didn’t even notice when Temiri ran away because the support checks kept coming nonetheless. On a crisp, fall day, much like the one today, a starving and terrified six-year-old appeared at Rey’s doorstep. She still wonders how Temiri figured out where she moved and how he navigated over three miles of metropolitan mayhem to arrive in one piece in the Bronx.

Plutt never came after Rey, or searched for Temiri, and she was able to wedge a secondary housing address for his school letters so that Rey didn’t miss anything related to his education.

Her alarm goes off with a heavy ring and Rey reaches over Temiri’s sleeping form to snooze it. They split a one bedroom and bed, shame not even a concept to Rey, since she has practically raised the soft mannered boy since he was a toddler.

It's not like she'll have a date over soon, if ever. 

They lived together with Maz when Rey was a teen and Temiri just a baby, removed from a heroin-crammed home. Within her heart, Rey knows if Maz’s time would’ve come later, there would have been talks of adoption but for now, Rey can live peacefully knowing they are both free of Unkar’s Plutt prison.

She gets up and showers, ready to walk Temiri to school and then start her eight-hour workday at the hotel. Every day is like this and Rey likes the routine. Routine and consistency weren't luxuries ever granted in any foster home.

Their breakfasts are toast and Fruit loops. Fresh fruit is a little _too_ expensive on the Northeast coast during autumn.

Rey checks her watch, concern washing over her. “Temiri!” she calls out, “we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave in the next minute!”

He’s in their bedroom, shuffling around for something to grab before they head out. Rey can hear the sound of crashing, then a couple huffed footsteps, and she’s concerned that’s he broken _another_ lamp-

“Coming!”

Temiri hops out of the room and past the kitchen, where Rey is holding his Minecraft backpack and the door open, tapping her foot insistently at his tardiness. He’s already down the two flights of stairs by the time Rey’s locked up and bundled up for the cold New York morning.

They grab hands, like usual, and they’re a couple blocks towards the bus stop when Rey finally asks him, “What were you so keen on grabbing before we left?”

Temiri’s hand that doesn’t hold hers reaches into his coat pocket and digs around a bit, until he shows her a quarter sized, silver pin with an orange starbird adorning the metallic surface. Rey’s brows furrow, trying to recall where he originally got it.

“Is that…the pin Poe gave you?”

Poe Dameron is Finn’s boyfriend. Finn is a fellow butler at her work. They live half a mile away from them and Finn will sometimes commute to _Coruscant Astaria_ with her. Poe and Finn watch Temiri when she works a weekend shift, and Rey will forever be grateful for the couple.

He nods with a smile. “Yea. I bring it for a good luck charm. And today we have class interviews.”

Oh yes. Good thing Temiri mentioned class interviews because she almost forgot, even if she set several alarms for today. Directly after school finishes, she’ll need to get off work early and rush halfway across town in order to meet _her_ four o’clock meeting with Temiri’s teacher, discussing fifth grade and all it entails.

“Does the pin help you when you talk to Mr. Morrison?”

Rey knows he can get nervous easily. Who can blame him? When you’ve haven’t lived a single year of your life with a stable parent or income, anxiety is obvious to appear.

They cross the street just as the light begins blinking. “Yea. When the words get stuck, I hold onto it really tight. Poe told me to use all the muscles in my arm and then I can focus on the pain instead.”

_Such a Poe thought_ Rey idly thinks.

“Well, that’s great that you have a vice, Temiri. Lord knows I could’ve used something like that instead of taking it out on random kids in school.”

Temiri looks up to Rey with a mischievous grin. “Like the time you bit that boy who pulled on your hair and then knocked out his front tooth?”

Rey scoffs jokingly down at the kid who’s head level with her shoulders. “Ugh, okay, _yes,_ if I had a starbird pin like that then I probably wouldn’t have bit him.”

She _really_ shouldn’t have confessed to Temiri about the years of her antagonizing and bullying spread across multiple school districts. But he loves hearing about her crazy, feral life as a foster child just like he is, and Rey doesn’t want to give him any ideas. The stories are _warnings._ Ones that he's heeded so far.

“What else is Mr. Dameron teaching you?” Rey asks with sated curiosity.

“Hmmm…”

A man pushing a hot dog cart narrowly misses them both, but Temiri is so deep in thought, he doesn’t notice.

“Well… Mr. Dameron showed me how to work a lighter once, but my finger hurt after I tried the metal thingy so he showed me how to use a match-“

“ _What?_ ”

“What? _”_ Temiri repeats back to her, like he’s said nothing wrong.

“Poe is showing you how to make a _fire?_ That’s the last thing you should show a child. He’s going to make you a pyromaniac or something.”

Rey’s voice is lined with concern, mostly because they will both be 100% homeless if anything, like _a fire,_ happens in the apartment. But otherwise, she can hardly hold back the laugh that summarizes staying the night at Poe and Finn's apartment: fun yetchaotic.

“You know, if you set my favorite Ikea curtains on fire, the ones with the cacti on them…” Rey reaches down and grabs at Temiri’s sides as he starts to laugh. “I’ll have to tickle you to death for punishment!”

“No, no I won’t! I promise, Sissy!”

They’re both still giggling when the M10 arrives at eight-thirty sharp to head downtown.

***

Just like any New York block, the sidewalk outside of his elementary school is chalked full of students and parents, including Rey and Temiri. To everyone else, Rey is assumed to be his stepmom. Or Plutt’s girlfriend. Whatever makes more sense for the school records.

She gives him a quick hug and pulls his hat down a little tighter. “Have fun at school today.” Rey tells him. “I’ll be here at four for the conference.”

Temiri nods and sneaks a quick peck on Rey’s cheek. He doesn’t care who sees, even if it’s the taller, much burlier fifth graders who’ll pick on him during recess about his “affection”.

Rey’s heart warms at his gesture. 

Actually, Rey’s heart warms at _anything_ Temiri does for her, either good or bad.

"Thanks, Sissy."

Her favorite thing though, is when Temiri calls her _Sissy,_ an old nickname that Maz used for years that he has officially adopted. 

He’s already dashing towards the school before she pipes out a quick _good luck!_ and then the brown-haired, brown eyed boy who could _easily_ be mistaken as her own is out of Rey’s sight.

She checks her watch. Fifteen minutes to get to work.

It’s a twenty-minute walk.

***

Rey jogs past Grand Central Park and says hi to a few food truck owners she knows.

When Rey crosses 57th avenue, the jog morphs to a run and her heart rate increases a bit.

She’s swearing up a storm by the time she hits 3rd avenue, sprinting through crosswalks and leaping over curbs. Her time management is usually _superb._ She’s often complimented about it by her manager.

Today apparently is an exception to such skill.

The burgundy shift dress Rey wears under her parka is soaked in sweat by the time she reaches the hotel, and she feels a trickle down her back as she clocks in with the old-school punch card. For a hotel so high-end and innovative, the staff are baffled the punch machine is still in use. It doesn’t even _work_ half of the time.

Rose is at the pick-up counter, waiting for her uniform and Rey joins directly behind her, attempting to catch her breath. The shorter, Vietnamese woman is nothing short of a spitfire and Rey’s best friend at the hotel. Rose was hired a year ago, and she’s the closest to Rey’s age, so the two bonded quicker than superglue.

“What’s up with the panting?” Rose quips back at her. They both grab the dress uniforms and shoes, as Rey swallows, trying to wet her throat for a response.

“School… _huff…_ street… _huff…pin-“_

Rose puts a hand up to Rey. “Nu-uh. I’m not listening until you have a swig of water and make yourself coherent.”

Rey takes her advice and takes grateful gulps of water from her stored bottle in her locker, but words still aren’t coming out.

“My god Rey,” Rose says with disbelief, “you need to jog more often!”

Rey can’t help but laugh at that. “And when do you suppose I go for a _jog?_ When I need to help Temiri with homework after school? Or maybe I’ll wait for him to go to bed, and I’ll go at night with the hopes of not getting stabbed.”

“Oh. Right.” A slight blush appears on Rose’s cheeks, a bit guilty. “Forgot about your little brother. _Man,_ that would drive me crazy! I know Paige use to babysit me a lot, but your thing seems a bit more… _intense.”_

_Intense_ is saying it lightly. Rey’s like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to drive a car through a storm with an expired license. 

"We left the house late today. To answer your previous question. Temiri wanted some pin Poe gave him. Remind me to kick Finn's ass during lunch break, by the way."

"Oh, no. For what this time?"

Rey takes a calming breath. "They taught him how to use a lighter _and_ a match."

"Ahh," Rose shuts her locker, understanding completely. "Could be worse, right? At least they didn't show him how to pick a lock or something useful."

"Um-"

Actually, Temiri _does_ know how to pick locks. And hot-wire a car. And a multitude of other things he watched Plutt do but Rey doesn't have to the strength to correct Rose. 

"At least you're not his mother. She'll be back in town soon, yea?"

To the hotel staff and management, Temiri is Rey’s biological brother. They’ve never looked _too_ much into their relationship, thank God, but _Coruscant Astaria_ is under the impression that the _Solana_ parents are alive but almost always out of town or unavailable.

"Yes, she's coming back from Ohio this weekend."

Rey is unsure how long she’ll be able to keep up the façade. Maybe until Temiri turns eighteen? Or when he turns sixteen, he can go through with emancipation and still live with Rey until he heads to college...which brings up the headache of his _college fund._

"Maybe she can watch him and you'll _finally_ go on the blind date I've tried to set up for you for months."

The thought makes her head pound, and Rey shifts her focus to tying her apron and shoes. She just smiles up to her friend.

Rose doesn't know better. No one at the hotel knows her situation. And they never will, if Rey's careful enough.

Going on a blind date is the absolute _last_ thing on her list of priorities.

***

The entire hospitality staff meets in the hallway of the break area, before the main work shift begins. Their head manager, Ms. D’Acy, claps her hands loudly to catch the attention of the group.

“Attention, attention!” she nearly shouts. “We have a very important announcement regarding management this morning.”

The maids, butlers and cleaners settle down as the lead hotel manager, Mr. Wexley, rounds the corner from security to greet all the employees with a friendly smile.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. For those who haven’t heard the news, Mrs. Connel has left her position her at _Coruscant Astaria_ to move to our West Coast branch. Her position of Assistant Manger of Hospitality is _very_ important and demanding, so the need for it to be filled is immediate.”

The tall, larger man clears his throat and flattens his beard in a calming move. His suit is pressed today.

“Typically, we hire those already pre-qualified for such responsibilities, but we’ve decided that the position will be filled _in-house._ ”

The butlers and maids murmur and turn to each other, whispers of _will you apply?_ And _there’s no way they’d pick me_ fill the room. Rose and Rey catch eyes, looks of disbelief and a hope within their sights.

“ _Rey!”_ the shorter girl yell-whispers. “ _This is your chance!”_

Rey just shrugs. Sure, she talks about getting out of this uniform and making some _much_ needed changes around here, starting with that _goddamn punch machine_ , but there’s a chance she’s too young or because she only has a high school degree.

Rose raises her hand, grabbing the hotel managers attention. “Mr. Wexley! Is there an age minimum to applying?”

The two managers acknowledge the young maid, and her even _younger_ brunette co-worker, then turn in a silent exchange.

“Well, no, there actually isn’t,” responds Ms. D’Acy. “As long as you have worked here for three or more consecutive years, then you’re game.”

Even _more_ wait staff begin to chatter and Rey’ mind is sent through a hot tumble cycle on the dryer. Theoretically, she _does_ have a shot at management, and the pay is almost double than what she gets now. She could get Temiri a phone or even better, they could move into a whole two-bedroom, anywhere outside of the Bronx, and they wouldn’t have to eat cereal for breakfast _and_ dinner, and Rey could-

“Rey? Heeello?”

She really needs to stop zoning out in thought. It’s going to get Rey fired someday.

“Ah, sorry Rose. Just a little lost for a second there,” Rey shakes her head, trying to clear it.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

Rose groans and smacks a hand to her forehead. “ _Apply,_ you big dummy. I know you _over qualify_ in terms of experience here, and all you do is bitch about our working conditions, even if you love this hotel.”

“Oh yea. I’ll think about it, I guess. I just don’t have the time for the training.”

“Hmph. I think that’s just a teeny-tiny excuse, if you ask me, but _fine._ ” The girl knots her apron and slicks back a few loose hairs. “You’re the only maid that management really _,_ and I mean _really_ likes. Jannah’s probably the only one slightly close to your chumminess but she’s only been here a few months.”

Jannah, the tall and beautiful maid with curls that stretch to oblivion, is chatting with both the restaurant _and_ bar managers as they speak. Rose does have a point. 

Rey sighs. “It’s just that- “

“Alright!” Ms. D’Acy claps extra loudly to silence the room. “We have a busy Friday ahead of us people!”

Rey needs to pay attention to morning announcements. But thoughts about the promotion, then money, then _Temiri_ plague her thoughts without warning.

“The Sheila family will be staying in room 506 today, and their children need the sheets changed to blue again, per Mrs. Sheila’s request.”

What if Rey becomes overloaded with work? What if she misses something important at Temiri’s school?

“The 19th floor is still having plumbing issues, so please let the maintenance staff know of any more overflows, or else the department of water and power is coming after us again.”

Oh god, and there’s the chance that hotel management may start digging deeper into her family’s history and notice that Temiri doesn’t share the same last name, or that he’s still _technically_ in the system.

“English elitist Bazine Netal has switched over from the Four Seasons to instead stay with us, and she’s specifically chosen the Park view room. Rae Sloane, who is visiting New York on account of the Mayor’s ball, has called us ahead of time regarding press and paparazzi...”

What would happen if the New York foster care system found out that Rey’s has (sort of) _kidnapped_ Temiri? He’s not living with his legal guardian.

“…conference with several East coast senate members, including but not limited to Amret Engell of Massachusetts, Domaric Quinn of New Hampshire and our very own, Mr. Benjamin Solo of New York, who will…“

They could send her to prison, take Temiri away from her.

“…but that includes the Friday review. Off to work everyone!”

Clapping fills the room and everyone disperses, expect for Rey, who's staring down at her white, company-issued Ked. She heard maybe four sentences of morning announcements. 

Why have her thoughts been so _cynical_ today? Rey can usually keep a positive mindset. It’s what helps her get through the hell that’s considered real life. It’ll do her no good if she just stands here, worrying about things that will only stress her out.

Rey is a good maid. An excellent one, in fact. She’ll do what she does best: her job.

She doesn’t bother grabbing an application from the break room table.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some references for the chapter, if visualization is your thing:
> 
> [The Penthouse Suite](https://waldorfastoria3.hilton.com/resources/media/wa/NYCWAWA/en_US/img/shared/carousel/main/WA_rylsuiteparlor02ng_3_745x269_FitToBoxSmallDimension_Center.jpg)
> 
> [Rey and Rose in Uniform](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta/status/1286392541026254848) (drawn by yours truly!)
> 
> [Saks](https://prnewswire2-a.akamaihd.net/p/1893751/sp/189375100/thumbnail/entry_id/1_3ob48gmz/def_height/1333/def_width/2000/version/100011/type/1)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> DCB

Rey stacks mountains of towels, toilet paper, coffee packets and any other items needed for a comfortable hotel stay on her cart, loading it up enough so she won’t have to drag it back and forth to the supply closet. There are five rooms of her floor today that need heavy cleaning and dressing, and Rey somehow has to complete the overwhelming amount of work _under_ the allotted time she’s been given, since she’ll have to leave an hour early to run seven blocks uptown.

Rose is in the supply closet with her, loading up her cart and gearing up to work the south end of the 25th floor. Rey works the north end. Sometimes, when a room is _exceptionally_ disgusting, each girl will whistle down the hall and call the other to witness the horrid things that guests leave.

“You know room 2506, Mr. Graham?” Rose asks, grabbing a handful of lotion bottles and then promptly dumping them onto the cart.

“The famous geology author? Sure. What about him?”

_“Well,_ our dear Mr. Graham has _graciously_ decided that it is, in fact, the _maid’s_ job to flush his toilet.”

Rey gags. Even after four years in the cleaning service, there are certain things that are down-right _puke_ worthy.

“That’s _gross._ Isn’t that man, like fifty or something? I swear, those rich farts never learned any manners growing up in those big, dumb mansions.”

“You’re telling me. Remember when Madame Elasca in 2509 only called me _Lotus_ and didn’t think I spoke a word of English?”

Rey recalls Rose’s one week of disciplinary time off after said incident. It still wasn’t fair, if you ask Rey, but a least the racist woman got what she deserved.

Rose cracks her knuckles and sighs nostalgically. “Best uppercut I’ve thrown in my damn life. I’m still shocked she didn’t sue.”

“You can thank Ms. D’Acy for _that_ ,” Rey reminds her. “That woman can talk any guest off the ledge. Her words are like proverbial therapy…or whatever people go to nowadays.”

The elevator dings next them and voices are soon heard through the thin walls. Both girls load up the carts faster, until they are pushing the bulky trolleys towards their respective hallways.

“Whistle if you need me!” Rose calls out. Rey nods back in affirmation.

Through the plush carpet and gold-bordered walls, Rey rolls up to room 2515, the suite which overlooks the entirety of Central Park. From the few words she _actually_ listened to during the announcements, she knows the woman staying here, Bazine Netal, is some big deal in England, and Rey expects nothing but lousy treatment and a messy room for the next however long the social elitist stays.

She raps quietly on the door. There are sounds of voices, and some music being played. Ms. Netal must have checked in already.

“Housekeeping!”

The voices go quiet for a minute and then footsteps vibrate from under the door. Someone is looking through the peephole.

The door cracks open enough for whoever is on the other side to shove half their face into the opening. They take a minute to inspect Rey in her blue uniform dress, white apron and chunky shoes.

“Come back at three!”

The door slams and locks.

Then the loud music begins again.

All Rey can do is sigh and keep her anger simmered. She’s used to this treatment. But sometimes, the three dollars extra per hour does _not_ make up for serving the one percent.

Her comm starts going off in her pocket and Rey picks it up, holding it to her ear.

“Solana here.”

“ _Are you in the laundry room right now?”_ Finn’s voice asks through the tiny speaker.

“Nope. I’m outside of this bitc- _err-_ Ms. Bazine Netal’s room currently. 2515.”

“ _Are you preoccupied?”_

“Nope. Need an extra hand for the penthouse?”

“ _Yes, please. As soon as possible, if you can.”_

Rey rounds to the other side of her cart and starts to push it back to the supply closet.

“I’ll be there in five.”

“ _You’re an angel, Rey.”_

She grins and replaces the comm back into her pocket.

“I know,” Rey says to absolutely no one.

***

“Solo, I _really_ need you to start condemning rumors rather than _starting them_!”

The quick-tempered redhead is hot on Ben’s heels, an article pulled up on his tablet and shoved into his face.

Ben all but shoves the electronic device away. “Relax, Hux. Let’s get settled before I read anything."

They’re staying at the topmost floor of _Coruscant Astaria_ , a hotel Ben and his mother frequented often during _her_ time as state senator. They never got to stay in the penthouse suite though, due to the various controversies involving Leia Organa over the years.

Ben Solo, along with his manager Armitage Hux, PR advisor Dopheld Mitaka and the bellboys lugging the mountain of suitcases behind them, walk down the private hallway connecting the main elevator towards the suite. It’s still a few minutes before they can _actually_ enter the room, but management made an exception for their Senator.

He clicks the keycard in and then pushes open the white, weighted door to reveal a hotel room like no other.

The entire place is themed in white, gray and gold, trailing from the Persian rug to the golden curtains that practically drip down from the windows. The furniture is old-fashioned, but impressive, Ben likening it to the vintage, regency style his mother is so fond of.

The staff begin to load the luggage inside and through the chaos, Ben notices there are still a scattering of maids and butlers preparing last-minute touches to the suite. They all keep their head down, expect for one young man dressed in a fine, black tuxedo.

He greets them with a sparkly smile and gloved hand, extended for shaking. “Good morning, Senator Solo. My name is Finn and I will be your butler for the penthouse suite.”

Ben gives a good shake, rattling the shorter man a bit.

“If there’s anything you need sir, anything at all, please dial 2-1-8-7 on any phone throughout the suite.”

“Thank you, Finn. I’ll make sure my manager writes that down.”

His manger is bent over his suitcase, digging for god knows what, but springs up when he hears Ben mention him. “I need to write down _what?_ ”

Instead, Finn just pulls a piece of white cardstock and hands it to Ben, and in black printed letters, it reads _Finn Tempête, leading Butler of Coruscant Astria, 2187._

Ben reads, then re-reads the butler’s name. “Tempête? Are you native to France?”

Finn chuckles at the suggestion. “I’m flattered but no. My family comes from a long lineage in New Orleans, and I'm Creole. I do know a few phrases in French, though.”

“Like what?”

The butler looks over to Hux and quirks a brow, sizing up the six-foot one man hanging to a single thread of sanity.

“Que faites-vous avec une casse couille?”

And Ben, the hard-hitting Senator responsible for making fifteen other house members _cry_ during last winter’s Chamber Meeting, _grins_ at the young man.

“Que fais-je?” he responds back in patchy French. There’s a hint of unbeknown youthfulness behind his tough exterior.

Finn reaches down towards Hux’s suitcase and yanks the nearly sixty-pound bag in one swoop before Hux can even choke out a word.

_“Vous êtes assis ailleurs.”_

Hux just stands there, as Ben laughs at the response, utterly confused by the entire exchange. Finn turns with a final nod and wink, carrying the suitcase to the secondary bedroom and leaving Ben and the rest of his team in total silence.

“Did I…miss something?” Mitaka whispers out from behind them.

Ben tucks his hands away in his pant pockets and starts to pace the living room and connecting office, not answering a single question. Like usual.

“Solo," Hux is chasing after him with that _goddamn_ tablet again, "the paparazzi are going to be _absolute_ animals this afternoon. I don’t have time for your silly language games or chatter. Did you confirm with _Washington Daily_ that you have a date for the mayor’s ball next week? Yes or no?”

All Ben can do is sigh and collapse into the cushioned seat of the desk chair. He rubs his hands over his face, trying not to muse his coiffed hair, and takes a breath. The plane ride was already bad enough with Hux and Mitaka chirping into his ears every other second.

“ _Ben.”_

“What?” he growls back. All Ben wants is a sandwich. And maybe a _doppio espresso_. He does _not_ want to answer any more of Hux’s stupid press questions.

“Did you, or did you _not_ confirm that you are taking Ms. Phasentein to the Mayor’s Ball this Friday?”

_Damn._ Ben knew there was something he was forgetting to announce at the press conference yesterday. But it’s almost a good thing he didn’t say anything because-

“Gwen said no. She can’t go to the ball. She’s going to be in Italy for the remainder of the month.”

Hux groans and goes to slam the tablet against the floor, stopping just short of actually damaging it. Even Mitaka takes a nervous gasp.

“That’s just _great. Fucking wonderful._ All my work, down the drain. She was our _one_ shot at making this right. Do you _know_ how many newspapers and tabloids I’ve had to correct? Dozens. Maybe hundreds, Benjamin.”

“Who cares.” Ben replies nonchalantly, leaning back in the chair. “Even if I have Republican supporters, they’re not conservative enough to vote out someone who could potentially be anything other than straight.”

Mitaka pipes into the conversation. They’re crossing into his territory now.

“It’s in no way homophobic sir, but most of the general public appears to think you are... _gay_. Or at least bisexual. It’s the only explanation for your lack of dates or escorts during the extent of your term. If I’m correct, you are the only senator currently without a long-term partner.”

A man can’t live happily as a bachelor in New York, can he? Ben doesn’t have the time for a girlfriend. He can’t do the commitment of a wife. Kids were a concept buried during his first round of elections, years and years ago.

“And what part of my sex life has anything to do with my policies, Mitaka?”

The shorter man is stunned and thrown through a loop. “Well-it doesn’t _really_ but in the polls-“

Ben interrupts the stuttering man with a sigh and sits up from the chair. The ten or so iced coffees Ben drained during the flight in order to stay awake are finally hitting. He begins to walk to the master bedroom before his _headache_ starts speaking again.

“And where do _you_ think you’re going, Solo?”

It’s a good thing Hux is an _excellent_ political manger. If he was anything else, Ben would’ve stabbed him by now.

“I’m taking a leak, Hux. If you want to join me that badly, maybe you should inform _London Times_ before we-“

“Fine! Fine.” Hux claps his hands over his ears. “Jesus, I’m hanging myself if you make _one_ more joke about such _behavior_.”

He doesn’t let them see, but Ben is laughing until he hits the bathroom.

He drowsily lifts the toilet seat and begins to unbuckle his belt once the door clicks closed. Exhaustion has overtaken his limbs and joints since landing, and he struggles with trying to get the zipper down, finger fumbling at-

“Eep!”

He turns in shock, hands falling forward to the toilet seat to see a brunette woman, a maid, stacking towels in the cabinet below the sink. She quickly adverts her eyes with a hand and scurries to the door.

“I’m sorry, Sir! Have a nice stay.”

She’s in and out before Ben could figure out his zipper.

Maids deal with this kind of stuff all the time, right? Ben’s heard the tales of housekeeping opening doors to completely nude men and women, who are sometimes doing things _worse_ than just pissing.

Ben thinks nothing of it, flushes the toilet, washes his hands in the marble sink and heads back out to the pandemonium that is his political team.

***

Rey has never run out of a suite faster than that.

She didn’t hear the guests come in. Finn didn’t warn her. Technically, she still had fifteen minutes before they entered, but thanks to her stupid brain, her thoughts went off the rails and she zoned out _completely_ while dressing the master bathroom.

The rest of her afternoon is spent cleaning and re-dressing the remaining rooms on the 25th floor. She didn’t get a very good look at the senator (who is a rather big deal? Rey doesn’t follow any politics) but the only thing she noticed was that he likes to dress in black. And he wore Ralph Lauren leather-patent shoes.

Stupid rich man didn’t even notice an entire _person_ was still in the bathroom before unbuttoning his pants.

Her cart rolls up to the last room of the day, which is thankfully close to the supply closet. She won’t have to heave it from the windowsills to the elevator.

One suite. Just _one_ suite she has to wrap up until she gets off.

It’s the Park suite.

_Knock knock_

“Housekeeping!”

Rey doesn’t hear any voices or movements. She must be out. Or asleep. Either way, Rey can be invisible; it’s what a maid is taught to do from day one.

She slides the universal key card into the lock and creaks the door open. Early this morning, Rey dressed the room along with a fellow butler or two, but Ms. Netal’s bags arrived in the late afternoon and she requested for them to be unpacked and hung.

Leaving the cart outside, Rey inspects the kitchenette, couch pillows, dust on the mirrors and then heads to the bedroom, where not one or two, but _six_ Louis Vuitton bags are scattered on the bed and floor.

_How is money everything but simultaneously nothing to these people?_

The bags unzip and unlatch without locks and it only takes Rey ten minutes to have the first half of the designer clothes completely folded and draped in the walk-in closet.

She’s so engrossed in her work, that Rey doesn’t hear the key card, or the door open until loud, British-tinted chatter begins to echo throughout the room.

“Isn’t it _magnificent,_ Delphi? It was the most expensive room they had available, besides the penthouse. Second best will do when you’re staying alongside _three_ state senators!”

Bazine Netal is tall, skinny as a pole with dark, waterfalling hair that reaches the curve of her back. A pair of silver Dior sunglasses adorn her face, and match the tacky, metallic pant suit she wears. Just by the way she walks, Rey _knows_ this woman was born and bred in power. There’s a certain sway rich people saunter with.

Her friend, Delphi, is shorter with cropped brown hair and neon-pink streaks dyed in the front. The style seems… _juvenile_ on a woman who appears to be pushing forty or older.

They are so caught up with bragging about the room’s amenities that they don’t notice Rey unpacking for _nine. entire. minutes._

“Oh!” Bazine exclaims when she walks into the bedroom, leaving behind the friend, to see Rey hanging up a Burberry scarf. “I didn’t realize you were here! You cleaning ladies sure are sneaky, aren’t you?”

_How am I supposed to respond to that?_

“Uhhh…yes. It’s in the job description, ma’am.”

The woman takes of her sunglasses and lets out a rather fake laugh. “So much sass! Usually my maids can’t respond, but your English is spectacular.”

_I’m going to strangle this motherf-_

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rey grits out instead. “It’s my pleasure.”

Bazine joins her in the closet and begins to inspect her work, fingers thrumming over thousand-dollar dresses and coats. “Oh _wow._ Usually, maids are never this neat.”

There’s a moment of unbated silence while a thought turns in Bazine’s head and Rey just sits there respectfully, waiting.

“Miss…?” Bazine asks.

“Rey. My name is Rey.”

Bazine smiles. “Miss Rachel. I need someone to go down to Saks, just around the block and pick up my curbside order. It’s for my date tonight and it’s _extremely_ important that I get it in the next twenty minutes.”

“Um-“

Rey glances down at her watch. It’s 3:15 pm. She needs to leave in the next fifteen minutes in order to make it to the parent-teacher meeting on time.

“You’ll do it for me, my dear Rachel? Oh _please,_ my life will go to absolute _hell_ if I wear the wrong dress tonight.”

These are the times where Rey wishes, as a maid, that she can refuse a guest. But it's written into the handbook they’re given the first day. In fact, rule number one is _always say yes, no matter what._

“I guess I can make a short trip. Is there a receipt or-?”

The woman jumps up and down, clapping like she's on a sugar high. “ _Brilliant!_ Take this fifty, and just say my name. They’ll know. I already called ahead.”

Rey plucks the crumpled green bill from her grasp, faking a smile as best as she can. “Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Well, if you’re already going to be out…”

Bazine grabs random jackets and pants, not even wasting a minute to inspect them. “Can you get these pressed? And I’ll need some help tomorrow, if you don’t mind returning.”

“Ah, okay. I’m going to…go then.”

And then this woman, the _audacity of this woman,_ taps the top of Rey’s head, like a parent would do for a well-behaving toddler.

Rey tries not to scream then and there.

She makes her way out of _this_ suite even faster than the senator’s because at least Rey was _invisible_ in the penthouse. This is the complete opposite and it’s a thousand times worse.

Rose is in the hallway, holding a laundry bag and notices the state of Rey’s dismay.

“Girl, it looks like you just got hit by a train. What’s happening? Who’s clothes need pressing?”

She throws the load of expensive garments into the laundry bag, then wipes a bead of stress sweat from her forehead. “The demon in 2515. I have to go to _Saks_ now and pick up some dress order which is the cure to cancer or something, I don’t know. I tried tuning her out halfway through her belittlement.”

“Oh, boy.” Rose cinches the bag up. “You better get going then. I don’t think you’ll make the L14 heading uptown, so it’ll be a nice run up to the school.”

Rey checks her watch. 3:18 pm. She wants to cry.

“Shit, alright, I’m going! Meet me down at in the lobby in ten!”

“Whatever you say!” Rose beckons back.

***

It takes Rey approximately two minutes to retrieve her coat from the locker room, then a minute and a half to sprint to Saks and then _five goddamn minutes_ to wait in line at the pick-up counter by the entrance of the store.

“Order name?” the woman asks. Her hair and nail extensions are longer than Rey’s patience.

“For _Netal_. Bazine Netal.”

The lady looks Rey up and down, taking in the thrift store parka and name tag. It’s obvious she is _not_ dressed like an average shopper here.

“Have any proof?”

Rey _groans._ She knew this was going to happen. This is why she tried to ask Bazine for a receipt.

“Look. We’re both sisters in the service industry, alright? You’re retail. I’m hospitality. We aren’t so different. You’ve got to believe me. I was sent here by Bazine _personally._ I’m her maid.”

She just stares at Rey with a look, one that Rey can’t decipher. Then her eyes roll, and the worker turns around to grab at a medium sized black bag on the shelf behind her.

A ticket gets printed and thrown haphazardly into the bag.

“ _Coruscant Astaria_ , huh?” She points to Rey’s badge. “Nice place. I hope I’m not making a big mistake here.”

_Bless the retail gods._

“Not at all. Thank you.”

She’s out the golden revolving doors seconds later and down the block, back to the hotel.

Rose is waiting on the stairs by the back entrance already,holding Rey’s Jansport backpack and polyester hat.

“Here.” Rey practically _thrusts_ the bag into Rose’s hands. “Take this to demon queen in 2515. I’ve gotta go. Thanks, again.”

“Anything for my hot-as-hell coworker." Rose waggles her eyebrows. "Which, speaking of hot, Tim is _seriously_ a looker and I know-“

Laughing interrupts Rose’s ever-insistent thoughts about boys. "You’re a lifesaver! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She takes off at a screeching pace to the elementary school with twelve minutes to spare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up the french joke. plz don't make fun of me. this is what it translates to:
> 
> Finn: "What do you do about a pain in your ass?  
> Ben: "What do I do?"  
> Finn: "You sit somewhere else."
> 
> hon hon hon, at least _I_ think its funny.
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta)


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I took a small break to draw a bit. I'm hoping to add LOTS of visuals to this story, so make sure you follow me on twitter to see them! (@dachenabritta)
> 
> Visuals:
> 
> [Rey's Apartment in the Bronx](https://www.apartments.com/5925-post-rd-the-bronx-ny-unit-garden-level-apt/5rxl49m/)
> 
> [The official cover for this fic!](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta/status/1286951281815252993) (I'm planning on embedding the image into chapter one, whenever I have the time)
> 
> Also for those asking, Temiri is _not_ an OC. He is a canon character in TLJ. [Temiri Blagg ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Temiri_Blagg) is usually known as "broom boy" within the fandom. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> DCB

_Tap tap tap._

The hallway outside of Temiri’s classroom is empty, save for a few kids and teachers packing up and leaving for the day.

_Tap tap tap._

Rey is the only guardian who booked an appointment on a Friday night. It’s not much of a surprise though. Everyone else in Fordham Heights, where the elementary school is nestled, would rather be hitting the bars or a five o’clock Broadway show than chatting about reading projects and the crayons their child will need for the year.

_Tap tap tap._

Her white sneaker drums nervously against the tile floor, echoing down the obsolete corridor. The only other noise being made is Temiri, who sits next to her in a matching orange chair, humming along to whatever song he’s listening to on his Walkman.

She looks down at the vintage device. Temiri would never admit it, but Rey’s aware that multiple peers have made fun of him for it, calling him “poor boy” who can’t even afford an iPod touch. Rey scored the Walkman at a garage sale three years ago. Temiri said it was the best birthday present he could’ve asked for.

His teacher, Mr. Morrison, opens the classroom door and welcomes them in with a friendly handshake and warm smile. He’s an older gentleman with greying hair, and a father based off the stories Temiri has told her.

_“Apparently his eldest son won American Ninja Warrior! Isn’t that so cool?”_ Temiri told her after the first day of class in August.

“ _Hella cool, if you ask me.”_ Rey agreed. _“I think you have a shot too, if you beef up those twigs you call arms.”_

They take the seats across the desk, which is fully loaded with papers, pens and otherwise, _junk._ It takes all of Rey’s inner clean-freak _not_ to offer a 12-step, Marie Kondo style organization routine to the man.

“So… Mrs-?”

“Solana. Rey Solana. I um, didn’t take my husband’s last name when we married. For- _err_ \- legal reasons.”

“Ah. I completely understand. My sister in law did the same thing.” Mr. Morrison nods. “Well then, Mrs. Solana, as you may know, Temiri is looking forward to a very bright and lively fifth grade year.”

The fifth grader sitting adjacent to her is kicking his feet wildly and thrumming along to the song blasting in his ears.

“How did his meeting go with you today?” Rey asks.

“Brilliant!” he exclaims, “Temiri is truly a bright student. I reviewed his grades from last year, and he’s in the highest percentile of his class.”

Rey can’t help but beam back at the teacher. “That’s amazing! Thank you.”

Mr. Morrison starts to shuffle through a couple papers, then scrolls at his laptop, presumably looking for further information to tell Temiri’s supposed stepmother. He locates a green sheet of paper and promptly hands it to Rey, who begins to skim it lightly.

But the skimming turns to concentration, when words like _gifted, acceleration_ and _advanced program_ pop up over and over again on the paper.

“Uh…” Rey trails, a bit nervous, “May I ask, exactly _what_ this is?”

He’s not mirroring her uneasiness. To the contrary, Mr. Morrison is smiling even bigger.

“Temiri handles schoolwork with ease. Every homework assignment is close to, or practically perfect. I believe his current program is too easy and not demanding enough.”

“Are you sure? Because I feel like all he ever _does_ is homework.”

“That’s just standard, Ma’am,” he tells her, unfolding his hands and rifling through a few more papers. “By assigning him the amount we do, Temiri will be more than ready for middle school next year. Which reminds me…”

Mr. Morrison hands her another paper. This one is yellow, the writing so tiny, she doesn’t pick up a single word before he’s speaking again.

“There’s a G&T class available to kids like him, where we pull him from normal lessons every Wednesday and Thursday and send him over to the local middle school. He can get a head start on algebra, Latin, chemistry. Any class you can name, really.”

What kid in this day and age needs to learn _Latin?_ Is that a new requirement for college? Rey knows universities today are insanely competitive, but the entire application process and prerequisites are a mystery to her. Temiri is smart. That’s been a fact his entire life. 

Maybe this program will help Temiri win some big scholarship to a prestigious school Rey would’ve _dreamed_ about applying to.

“Whoa, that’s just, um-“

_But there has to be a catch to this. This is all too good to be true. Like always._

“-great.”

“It truly is, Mrs. Solana. He’s one of the four children chosen this year from the entire fifth grade level.”

“And this program, I’m assume, is provided to him through the school?”

_That’s_ what gets Mr. Morrison to falter his smile a bit. “Actually, that was my next point. The school didn’t receive enough funding this year for full rides. So, it will be the parents sponsoring the program.”

_Bingo._

“And how much would it be for the year?”

He takes a breath. “Four thousand for the winter and spring semesters.”

Four.

Thousand.

It’s like Rey’s been thrown in the boxing ring without gloves. The physical embodiment of _four thousand_ is a monster-sized wrestler, beating and berating her; punches and kicks hitting her frozen body until her eyes begin to purple and blood drips down her nose.

That’s rent for _two whole months._

“That’s…quite a lot of money, Mr. Morrison. How have the other parents been responding to this?”

She’s glad Temiri isn’t listening to a word of this conversation. Rey knows how much he hates her worrying about bills.

“Most parents have agreed to the amount. Since this school is situated in Fordham Heights, rather than, let’s say, _South Bronx_ , there hasn’t been an issue. Yet.”

And _there’s_ the biggest and prevalent problem with enrolling Temiri in the school district that reflects his permanent address with Plutt, rather than her low-income reflective one. The people sending their kids to school here _have_ money. Like Plutt.

Rey can’t explain why there’s a money problem. The school knows Plutt is well off. So if they find out he’s _not_ living at his permeant address, then this whole thing could potentially set off a chain reaction to an investigation, and then, _oh god…_

She’s thought about losing Temiri _twice_ today. It’s a new, frightening record.

Slapping her manufactured fake smile back on, Rey tilts her head up to Mr. Morrison and folds the two sheets of paper, tucking them into her backpack.

“I’ll have to speak with his father about this. The system may need to approve this before we can make a decision, so I can get back to you in the next week or so?”

He smiles again. “Of course, Mrs. Solana. Now that we can check that off our agenda, I wanted to let you know about the exciting field trips we have coming up, including our trip to the _Metropolitan_ this March, and…”

Rey tunes out Mr. Morrison. She can hardly focus on a single word he’s saying just like with Ms. D’Acy earlier. And she really _should_ be concentrating. Temiri is her priority. Anything else concerning _Rey_ is put on the backburner. Like always.

Rey will keep it that way as long as Temiri is living under her roof, as her own.

***

They’re able to catch the L10 heading up to the Bronx despite the meeting ran late. The sky outside is already beginning to darken and quiet; waiting for the life that will spring when the stars make their appearance. When the bus stops on Westchester Avenue, Rey sees people her age walking a block best known for its bars and food. The girls wear short, colorful dresses, giggling and taking photos, while the boys intermingled with them bump shoulders and check the girls out without embarrassment.

It’s an experience Rey never got. She’ll probably never get it, since Temiri will be entering middle school next year, and then in three short years, _high school,_ and Rey becomes dizzy all of a sudden, thinking about the morning, afternoon and evening, all crashing down-

“Sissy?”

Temiri is tugging at her parka sleeve, trying to show her something.

“What is it, baby?”

“Here,” he passes Rey a packet, typed in size 18 font, “I finished up my report today and printed it at school. I wanted to show you my final draft.”

She flips through the paper, hardly recalling what _this_ report was about (there are so many nowadays, Rey’s unsure how he keeps track of them) but picks up a few names and places.

“Is this about…the U.S senate?”

Out of all the things in the entire world for a child to be obsessed about, Temiri chose _politics._ Not comic books or Legos. Even Minecraft is just a hobby to him. But give him a newspaper with the latest report of foreign complications with the U.S and China? He’s hooked.

Rey barely knows who the _President_ is, for god’s sake.

“Yep!” Temiri turns back to the front and points to the title. “Specifically, about the 1987 scandal in New York.”

At the top, the title reads: _Leia Organa: Good Person, Bad Blood?_

It’s very cheesy and Rey has to suppress a giggle. She knows Temiri probably slaved _hours_ over thinking of it.

“Leia Organa, huh? Wasn’t she that one congress lady whose Dad was an infamous terrorist? Or something along the lines _of evil-murder-guy_.”

“Yep. That’s her,” he confirms.

“That’s a pretty heavy topic, Temiri.”

_What websites is she letting him surf on her laptop? Jesus._

“I know but…I thought it was cool that I did my report on her because her son is now the New York Senator. Plus, their last names don’t match, like ours.”

Huh. The woman from the 1987 Congress scandal has a kid? Rey never knew that.

Rey also didn’t know that _her_ son was Senator _now_ either, nonetheless the Senator of _New York,_ which is weird because Rey could swear the _Coruscant Astaria_ is in fact, hosting New York’s Senator for pre-election conferences, and the man is _staying in the_ _penthouse suite_ -

“Oh god,” is all Rey chokes out, the realization hitting her.

Temiri gives her an honestly confused look. “What? Is my report that bad?”

“No!” she collects herself, even if it’s just for the moment, “It’s just that- _um-_ I actually _met_ the Senator today. Briefly. I helped dress his suite.”

Temiri nearly launches up and out of the upholstered bus seat. “No way! Really? Did you get to shake his hand? Did he ask what party you vote for?”

The blush on Rey’s face must be visible from Mars. She _never_ gets flushed due to a guest’s… _indecency_ at this point in her career. She’s seen enough skin for a thousand lifetimes. But out of all the possible topics for Temiri to pick, he chose _the mother of the man she watched nearly take a piss in front of her only hours ago._

_That_ is reason why she’s blushing. Rey swears.

“Uhhh. No. I didn’t shake his hand nor talk to him. We kind of just…ran into each other. In his room.”

“Oh.” Temiri deflates.

Rey hates seeing him down. She has to think, quick.

“How about I make you a deal. If you take on dish duty for the next _three_ days, I’ll ask him to sign one of your magazines, the one we have delivered, _National Report-“_

“National _Review_ ,” he corrects.

“Yes. That one. If you take on dish duty, and lend me your magazine tomorrow, I’ll ask _personally_ for his autograph.”

“ _Really?”_

Now Temiri is actually jumping out his seat.

“Yes! Now sit down! And I hope you know, dish duty starts tonight, so I hope you’re not too messy during dinner.”

He sticks his tongue out at Rey when the bus stops at their block.

***

Temiri keeps his word and hand washes every pan, plate and fork they used for their dinner of eggs and buttered toast: a poor kid classic, enhanced by some dollops of hot sauce.

Since it’s Friday, Rey gives him a break on homework, and stores away his backpack so he doesn’t attempt to do it earlier than Sunday. He’s a ten-year-old kid. He should be playing outside or talking with the neighbor kids; not crunching numbers like some depressed accountant going through a nasty divorce.

She helps him pack up his duffle bag for the weekend, loading up his favorite graphic shirts, the Walkman and some Spiderman action figures. Rey has a weekend shift tomorrow and Sunday that she couldn’t get out of no matter how much she pleaded, so Temiri will be spending a fun-filled weekend with Finn and Poe doing god knows what.

If it involves flames or fire again, Rey is picking up Temiri on Sunday with a knife intent on stabbing Poe’s feet.

Temiri goes to bed around nine, leaving Rey alone in the poorly lit kitchen of their apartment. The bulb blinks in and out, and Rey always forgets to swing by and grab a new one to switch out.

Her leather-bound finance tracker is splayed in front of her, multi-colored notes littered all over the white pages, and spread across a horde of sticky notes on her laptop. The now-flattened pieces of green and yellow paper from Mr. Morrison sit there too. Rey doesn’t want to read them. Hope is a painful thing.

She logs on to her laptop and begins to pay various bills, like the internet and the heat, which seem to be growing month by month at an exponential rate.

Her laptop is about to die too. The menu bar keeps flickering.

And then there’s the manner of _Temiri’s education._

She wants nothing more than to send him to the Gifted and Talented program. Rey knows he’ll enjoy the challenge. If Temiri can get a head start in middle school, it’ll carry strong for the entirety of his education, and his college fund may not be necessary. Maybe it’ll become _her_ college fund, and Rey could get her bachelor’s degree like she always dreamed of.

Her phone suddenly vibrates, _Finn_ popping up in white letters on the screen.

Rey answers, anxious. It’s very unlike Finn to call this late.

“Hello?”

“ _Uh, hi Rey.”_ It sounds like he’s out of breath.

“Is everything alright? You usually don’t call me past eight-“

“ _We’re at the hospital_ ,” Finn interrupts. “ _St. Michaels, up the block.”_

“What happened? Do you need me to come help?”

“ _No, no. Don’t worry. It’s just Poe being Poe. Dumbass was cooking dinner and dancing at the same time and grabbed the knife like a microphone_.”

“And you guys are at the hospital for…horrid singing?”

“ _He grabbed the wrong end of the knife._ ”

“Ah.”

That makes sense. But her stabbing joke is now aging rather poorly.

“ _They’re giving him stitches right now,_ ” Finn says through the line, “ _but I wanted to tell you that I think it would be a bad idea if T stayed with us this weekend. Poe’s going to be so hopped up on painkiller and I know he likes to ramble about our sex life when-“_

“Argh! Okay. _You_ don’t need to get into detail.”

“ _Will you be alright tomorrow? I’m working dinner shift, but I think Marisa in alterations could watch him.”_

Out of all the days for this incident to happen, today is of _course_ the day.

“Don’t worry about us, Finn. I’ll just give him my laptop and sit him in the break room. Kid can keep himself entertained for _hours.”_

Finn doesn’t seem satisfied with her response. “ _Are you sure, Rey? I know it’s hard, since you’re-“_

“Finn! I’m fine. We’re fine. I said don’t worry. Send Poe my best wishes, okay?”

“ _Whatever you say. Night, Rey._ ”

She takes in a deep, shaking breath. “Good night, Finn.”

Then she hangs up the worst call she’s gotten in weeks.

Temiri is going to be so disappointed. He’s talked about staying with Finn and Poe for what seems like forever, and the times he’s had to be kept in the break room are downright _torturous._

Rey lets her head fall hard against the table, the sound of her temple hitting the wood like a gunshot in the dark. She won’t cry. Rey is a strong bitch. She’s been through hell and back. She’s practically a single mother at _twenty-two fucking years old._

Temiri’s shadow becomes visible in the doorframe of their bedroom and Rey kicks herself for not being quieter over the phone. He’s too light of a sleeper.

“Rey? What’s wrong?”

She straightens up, smoothing down her fly-aways and clears her throat. Temiri will only call her _Rey_ when he’s serious.

“It’s nothing, baby.” She closes her book before he can peek again. “Want to come sit for a minute? I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He joins her at the chair next to her rather than across, then lays his head, hair ruffled from his pillow, against Rey’s shoulder.

“I heard you talking to Finn.”

“Yes. He just called.”

He waits a beat before asking, “I’m not going to their apartment tomorrow, am I?”

_Clever kid-_

“I’m sorry, baby. Poe got into a little accident and he has to take drugs to help heal. He’ll be okay but he doesn’t feel comfortable having you over.”

Temiri only nods as a response. He’s used to disappointment ever since he was stuck into the hellhole considered a _home_ in Plutt’s basement.

“You’ll have to come hang at the hotel with me. You can borrow my laptop and everything.”

She can tell he’s upset. He’s just so very good at hiding it.

They sit together in silence, the electric bulb above humming and Temiri breathing softly though his nose. These are the times that make Rey grateful to whatever god watched over Temiri the day he wandered through the jungle of concrete, safely guiding him to her doorstep.

He wants to say something.

“At the meeting today…” Temiri whispers.

“Yea?”

The words bowl around his mouth.

“My Walkman. It wasn’t, _um_ , turned on.”

Rey’s blood freezes.

“Temiri? Are you saying you-“?

“-heard every word of you and Mr. Morrison’s conversation?” he finishes for her. “Yea. I’m sorry, Rey.”

Everything about the Gifted and Talented program. About the price. How Rey is an exception to all the parents capable of paying the fee without a sweat. Temiri heard _everything._

“… _why?_ ” is all Rey can croak out.

He wiggles out his chair and grabs the green and yellow papers before Rey can stop him. She’s too exhausted to reach across the table and grab them back from him, and he's already read at least an entire page.

_“Latin?”_ Temiri huffs out. “I thought that was a dead language.”

Rey doesn’t respond. She’s still too shell-shocked.

“Sissy.”

The nickname knocks her from her stupor.

“Yes, baby?”

He sets down the papers and lets out a yawn, the day and now night, catching up to his exhaustion.

“Don’t worry about this stuff. I don’t even _want_ to do it. I’d have to take this stupid bus twice a week, then my homework load would _double_ , not to mention that one kid in the program who already hates my guts for no reason.” He shrugs pajamaed shoulders. “No biggie.”

But beneath that smile of confidence and easiness, Rey knows better than anyone, that disappointment is carefully hidden behind dimpled cheeks.

The managerial position pay is the most tempting it’s ever been, right here, right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to all the single moms and dads out there. YOU are the backbone to our society.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Just a warning, my update schedule is non-existent. If you've ever followed one of my works, you'll know I go through phases of endless chapter updates, then a mild burn out, then more updates.
> 
> So I guess I _do_ have a schedule. It's just terrible lol. 
> 
> Visuals!
> 
> [The Hotel's Restaurant ](https://www.oyster.com/uploads/sites/35/2019/05/450-2009-11-adour-st-regis.jpg)
> 
> [Minecraft farm](https://education.minecraft.net/wp-content/uploads/Harvest-Time-web-lesson-2.jpg)
> 
> Enjoy!  
> DCB

Ben recalls Saturday mornings as the one time of peace during his chaotic childhood.

At ten, he’d wake to the sun shining through his window, the Solo-Organa Manor standing still in time; silent and hushed. He’d awake with a sense of tranquility that was atypical for his home life.

Ben would tip toe down the two-story stairs, sit on the plush carpet of the living room and watch Saturday Morning cartoons with a bowl a cereal. Years of Justice League, TMNT, Fraggle Rock, and more shows that he can’t remember would tune out the commotion of his normal day-to-day life, Ben swimming calmly within an ocean of politics, scandals and distress.

In present-day Manhattan, New York, now thirty-one-year old Ben Solo sits on the French upholstered lounge chair parallel to the suite’s massive, arching windows and stares out at the city skyline rather than the old box TV playing technicolor cartoons.

He wakes up early on Saturdays still. And for the same reason.

At 6:30 am, the sun has only peaked over the surfaces of the city giants, the work crowd already beginning to simmer below the forty-something stories of the hotel. Hux and Mitaka are still fast asleep, and will be for the next hour, so it’s just Ben, the _New York Post_ and his triple shot of straight espresso, sans cream or sugar.

He’ll willingly read the paper when Hux isn’t around. It’s the only time the obnoxious red head won’t read over his shoulder the entire time, making snide comments about the President, or the poor decision of the Supreme court, or the rumors surrounding New York Senator Benjamin Solo. 

On the very front page, him and three other visiting Senators are the headline. It’s their official Chamber photos printed in heavy saturation, and knowing the _NY Post,_ they’ll keep to the facts. When the Senators will arrive and leave. The Press Conference locations and times. Who will be running for re-elections, blah, blah, blah.

The journaling that Ben _really_ loves to flip through is none other than _Daily News: New York’s Hometown Newspaper._

The tabloid is under a pile of other, much more competent pieces and Ben nearly tears the flimsy paper when he yanks it up and out from the stack. 

Smack dab on the front is a photo of him, in shorts and an athletic shirt, jogging down the street just North of his house in Rhode Island. The big, bold letters read in hardly perfect English: _Senator Solo Exposed! Read about his secret boyfriend and scandalous vacation. You’ll be shocked!_

The title itself is so ridiculous that Ben snorts out loud. 

He almost feels bad for Hux. _Almost._ If he had to sit around all day, reading trashy headlines and then calling to debunk them to the trashiest humans alive, Ben would also be on his last crack of sanity. 

God the _secret boyfriend_ one really gets him. People don’t even bother thinking he’s straight. 

But that’s what happens when you haven’t dated since high school. Or if you wear designer clothes only and cologne. Or if your _entire_ personal life is hidden away so well, people even forget that you’re the son of former Senator Organa. 

Ben should call his mother. 

But instead, he slaps the tabloid to the floor and rises to stretch his outrageously long limbs. 

Him and his team have a long, boring brunch scheduled with Monday’s conference officiator, regarding press and questions. The whole thing will take almost three hours and Ben’s curious to see how many Old Fashioneds he can drain in the extensive time period. He’s betting six as of this morning, two per hour, but he thinks that number will double in actuality. 

Hux hates when he drinks. Mitaka loves it.

“ _You become a much friendlier person, Sir. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if you did a debriefing while drunk out of your mind. I personally think your numbers would increase tenfold.”_

Ben obviously refused Mitaka’s suggestion, but it still sits in the back of his head, nonetheless. 

Saturday has official started. The sun is big and bright, lighting up the Autumn-bathed streets of Manhattan.

Another peaceful morning for another boring day.

***

Rey lets Temiri punch her card in today, since he adores the sound it makes, while she greets her fellow maids and butlers, all rushing for 8 am cleaning and serving shifts. Temiri was quiet the entire ride downtown. He didn’t listen to his Walkman. He didn’t say a word to Rey. He just gazed out the window, unfazed by the early morning light and crazy commuters.

To say Rey is concerned would be an understatement.

They walk down the hall to the break room, which has no windows and only two doors, like a jail call. And to Temiri, it might as well be.

He pulls out a few puzzles, the Walkman, then Rey’s banged up laptop, fixing them in the set-up he likes best. The magazine _National Review_ lays next to the laptop, the face of a man with dark hair and features, focused solely on the cover.

“That’s him, right?” Rey points to the glossy paper, attempting to cheer him up.

“Oh yea.” Temiri picks up the magazine with both hands. “I don’t think he looks like his mom at all.”

“Quite the opposite problem that we have then. Which, by the way…” Rey leans in a little closer, “You’re my brother here, okay? Your name is Temiri _Solana_ today.”

He frowns, arms losing strength and falling slowly to the table.

“I already tell people that’s my name…”

Rey takes in a shocked, shuddering breath. It's a painful reminder.

She knows he wants nothing more than to _truly_ become Rey’s family, as she does his, but right now, the thought is impossible.

What will it take to get a smile back on his face?

“I loaded up Minecraft for you last night. Put all those codes you wanted into a word document.”

She plucks the magazine from his hands and Temiri doesn’t blink.

“I’m cleaning the Senator’s room later today, so I’ll make sure to ask him for an autograph, _specifically_ addressed to a certain Mr. Temiri.”

He perks up at _that._

“You’re really going to ask him?”

“Of course! You don’t think I’ll stay true to my word?”

A grin begins to peek out. “Well, you don’t _always_ keep your promises.”

“Like what??” Rey’s a little offended.

“Remember for my ninth birthday, you promised me a triple-layer, chocolate, vanilla, red velvet supreme stack cake? With blue icing and sprinkles?”

Oh god, she already knows _exactly_ where his point is heading.

“Yes…”

“And then you burned the whole thing? I didn’t even think that was _possible_. You cooked every layer by themselves, but you still-“

Rey playfully claps a hand over his mouth. “Okay! So, I don’t keep _every_ promise I make. I can admit that. But that… _monstrosity_ you asked for was doomed from the beginning!”

He’s laughing below the skin of her palm.

Temiri removes her hand from his mouth. “Yea, I guess that cake was too much to ask for. But you’re sure you’ll get his autograph today?”

“ _Yes_ Temiri. But you have to be good today, okay? You can go to the restaurant and ask Jerry for a bowl of mac and cheese. He’s my homie.”

The young boy lets out a sound of disgust.

“ _Please_ never say the word ‘homie’ again.”

Rey scoffs. “I am twenty-two! I’m still Gen Z! I can use that slang. What do you think I am, some old fart?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. But that’s usually during your ‘special’ time of the month when you cry and eat-“

“ _My god_ child! I can’t _believe_ you just said that out loud. Why can’t I ever find your off switch?”

The grin becoming maniacal, “It’s in my buttcrack.”

_I forgot that ten-year olds, are in fact, little shits,_ Rey reminds herself. _No matter how wonderful and sweet they may be._

“If I find out you’re causing trouble down here, I’m sticking you in Marisa’s office. And you _know_ that woman hates Minecraft with a passion.”

“ _Ugh_. Not Marisa. All she did was to complain to me about _her_ son all day, and why computers rot our brain.”

“I don’t know, Temiri,” Rey sarcastically sighs. “Based on your back talk today, maybe that screen really _is_ rotting your brain…”

“No!” he all but shouts.

She’s teasingly pissed but presses a kiss to his forehead anyways.

“I’ll be on the 25th floor for most the afternoon if you need me. Talk to Ms. D’Acy or Mr. Wexley if you want a guest key. They’ll let you up.”

His smile is back, even if it appears somewhat fake. He’s kicking his legs a little too.

“Okay, Sissy.”

***

Rey finishes up the third room of the morning, 2518, wiping some sweat from her cheeks as she lugs her cart back towards the supply closet. Temiri’s magazine is tucked away safely in the shelf compartment of the trolley.

Rose is there and it’s the first time she’s seen her during the shift.

“Morning, Rose," she greets in a sing-song voice, "Thanks again for yesterday. Hopefully demon queen didn’t give you too much trouble.”

The shorter girl looks up from folding towels, a frown replacing her usual smile.

“Why is Temiri in the break room, Rey?”

_Ah._

“Wow, well, hello to you too.”

Rose taps her foot, awaiting further info from her fellow maid.

Rey tries her best aversion technique, picking up a basket of instant coffee and re-filling Rose’s almost empty one. “Looks like you were low, I know the family in 2502 keeps drinking all-“

“ _Rey.”_

She keeps filling the basket, hoping Rose will drop the subject altogether.

How _will_ she explain the mess of today?

“I thought your mom was coming back from Ohio today? Why isn’t _she_ with Temiri?”

_Think of an excuse think of an excuse think of an excuse_

“Um…my mom won’t be here until Monday. Flight delay. Some problem with the airline mixing up the date, so she’s staying two more nights.”

That’s somewhat realistic right? Rey has never been on an airplane before.

“If you think I'm going to believe that, then you think I really am stupidest person at this hotel.”

“Rose-“

She throws a hand up to Rey’s face, shushing her.

Over the past year, Rose has been _extremely_ thorough when grilling Rey about her home life, concern usually laced onto each and every question. It’s all in good nature and it makes lying to her harder each time.

“Rey, I'm not going to sit here and listen to another made up story about your ever-absent mom, and your working abroad dad. I know there’s something you’re not telling me. I get it. We all have our secrets. Hell, I know _I_ sure do.”

Rey stands unmoving, her arm halfway to Rose’s cart with a handful of instant coffee packs.

“What I’m trying to say is, as your best friend, I hope you feel comfortable enough to let me know when something’s wrong. I see the bags under your eyes. You’re already getting stress lines in your early twenties. And don’t even get me _started_ on your non-existent social life.”

The guilt gnaws at Rey like acid.

“First of all, I’m not social to begin with. Second, I’m stressed because of work, like any other New Yorker. And third, nothing’s wrong. My parents are just…not the best people.”

At least _that_ statement is true. When you decide to prioritize your coke habits over feeding your 5-year-old daughter, you’re automatically placed onto the _bad people of this world_ list quicker than your next line.

“Rey, you don’t have to defend yourself. I know some trauma shit is going down in your home, and it’s not my place to ask, but I want you to tell me when you’re ready. Okay”

Rey nods. “Of course. I don’t know when-or if that will _ever_ happen but-“

_Or whenever my spin of lies comes crashing down._

“Thank you, Rose.”

Rose sighs, placing the stack of towels in a neat pile on her cart. The worry in her previous tone is genuine.

“I’m sorry I soured your afternoon,” Rose says, “I’m just worried about you. Like usual.”

An idea pops into the maid’s head.

“How about I come help you clean the Park Suite? So, you can take a longer lunch break with Temiri.”

Rey perks up. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Of course, Rey. _Geez_ , girl, you act like you’re all alone in this big, bad world with no one to hold your hand when you’re drowning. That’s what friends are _for_.”

Rey leans over her cart and wraps Rose in a tight hug. “I guess you’re right. Thanks, Rose.”

There are people in her life that _care._ She needs to start realizing that more often.

“You’re welcome, hottie. Don’t ever doubt my love for you again.”

The girls giggle together, smiles returning just like Rey had wanted earlier for Temiri. Sometimes, it just takes a certain person to pull you out of a funk.

They keep loading the carts, joking with ease now until Rey’s eyes catch the small analogue clock on the supply closet’s wall, noticing that she only has thirty minutes until lunch.

“Could we…go over there now? To the Park suite. 2515 is the last one I have to hit before my break.”

Rose turns to glance up to the clock also. “Ooo. Yes.” She grabs Rey’s cart with a steel drip and pushes it with force, unnatural for a woman her size. “Onward, my dear servant. Off to demon Queen’s room we go.”

***

Temiri sits hunched over Rey’s laptop, back bent painfully as he builds his latest world in Minecraft.

This one is a farm with every animal imaginable. He coded them all in (like the genius he is), and now there’s an endless scape of barns, fences, ranches and _his_ farmhouse, directly in the center of it.

He’s never been much of a fan of survival mode. It makes him too anxious.

Temiri stretches up and out of the chair stomach growling as he does so. He looks to the corner of the laptop screen to see that it's nearly lunchtime. But it's not for another thirty minutes and Temiri will most likely starve by then.

He knows where the restaurant in the main lobby is. He won't need a universal key to get out of the break room, and Rey already told him that Jerry got a heads up. It's just a matter of leaving the break room and making his way through the massive crowds of the hotel.

His stomach growls again, louder this time.

He will actually die if he does not eat his mac and cheese right now.

So Temiri closes the laptop, packs up his backpack and slings it over his shoulders, perfectly intent and capable of heading upstairs to the restaurant and politely ordering a child sized portion of mac and cheese.

He passes a few of the staff that he recognizes, saying quiet _hellos_ and _how are yous_. There are a few strange looks from people who don’t know who Temiri is, but who can blame them? Technically, a kid should not be down here. This area is employees only.

Since it's a Saturday, the lobby and therefore, the restaurant are _completely_ packed. Temiri wrestles through the crowd of expensive jackets and suitcases to the massive, French doors that open to the dining area. There’s a woman standing there at the front behind the podium and he recognizes her from his last “stay” at _Coruscant Astaria_.

Her face beams down at him. She appears to be taken by surprise. “I didn't know you were visiting us today, Temiri. Parents not in town again this weekend?”

“Uhh, yea. They’re …”

_Rey forgot to tell me where our fake parents are supposedly this weekend._

“…out.”

“Ah, another business trip? Nor surprised. Rey’s always telling us about your folk’s crazy travel schedules. I bet they bring back the _best_ souvenirs.”

How Rey can keep up so many stories beats Temiri.

“Um. Yea, I guess so.”

The olive-skinned hostess hums a non-coherent response while she jots something hidden behind the podium’s massive frame.

“Here,” she says, handing him a pink sticky note.

“I put my signature on it. It’s your ticket into the restaurant. Just give it to your server and he’ll give you a kids meal.”

“Is Jerry my server?”

The woman barks out a laugh. “ _Jerry?_ Oh no, honey. He’s a cook. I’m not sure who will help you out, but you ask them to say hi to him, I’m sure ol’ Jerry would appreciate the sentiment.”

“Got it. So, I can just…” Temiri turns out to the dining room, pointing to the booth at the farthest end, away from the masses.

“Any booth you’d like. Try not to bump into anyone on the way over, though. We’re mid lunch rush right now.”

Temiri nods and ducks under the various serving platters that whiz up and over his head. He’s pretty tall for a fifth grader, but still short enough to be a kid in any adult’s eyes. He chooses the booth he initially pointed to and sits with a relived exhale.

A male server greets the young guest at his private table and Temiri hands him the sticky note.

“Which kid’s meal can I get for you? We have a menu up front I can grab for you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a menu but thank you. Just ask Jerry for my order.”

Like the hostess, the waiter laughs at his very serious suggestion. Which, if you ask Temiri, is quite rude.

“Got it, little dude. I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later, there’s a steaming bowl of mac and cheese sitting on his placemat, _begging_ to be dug into.

He happily munches on the cheesy noodles, enjoying the extravagant creaminess that only the hotel’s mac and cheese seems to get right. The first time Temiri ever tried it, he begged Rey to recreate it for dinner a few times, but Kraft’s level of quality will only go so far.

And _Rey_ cooking a homemade pasta dish?

Out of the question.

The bowl is cleared before server comes back to check on Temiri.

He doesn’t want to go back to the obsolete break room _right_ now, so he asks the waiter for a glass of water. If he can keep busy at the booth, he’ll be able to people watch for a few more minute.

When Temiri observes the contents of the lunch crowd, he doesn’t see another kid at all. Not ever a teenager among the people. It's all adults. Some groups are chatting and laughing, their hands coming up to cover a snort. Other groups are serious, foreheads creased in concentration as they discuss things much more important than the latest New York gossip.

From the corner of the room, Temiri spots someone who looks…familiar.

He’s tall in real life. Like _really_ tall, even if he’s sitting down. There’s a slight gleam as something small and golden catches on his lapel every time he shifts his body to speak. With pitch-black hair and a matching midnight suit, the man would be easily terrifying to the typical pedestrian. 

But Temiri isn’t terrified. On the contrary, he’s _ecstatic._

Leaving behind the forgotten glass of water, he throws his backpack on and strolls over to the assembly of professional men, Temiri unsure _what_ he’ll say.

At first, none of them notice him. He waits a foot away from the Senator’s chair, eyes focused on the back of his head.

...Until the red head directly _next_ to the Senator sees him and then promptly turns his nose up at the young boy. “What do you want? We’re busy.”

_That_ grabs the attention of the remaining lunch goers.

Enough so, the Senator _himself_ turns in his chair slowly to face Temiri, who can’t hide his toothy smile, even if it killed him.

“Uh, Hi Mr. Solo!”

_Smooth. Real smooth, Temiri._

“Hello,” the giant man responds with a hint of relief in this tone.

Temiri rounds his backpack over his shoulder and starts unzipping it, digging for his latest copy of _National Review._

“M-my name is Temiri B- _Solana,”_ he corrects and then begins to ramble, nervous as heck _, “_ and I watched every minute of your conference in D.C last week and the chamber meeting during the bill reform and I’m a really big fan and was wondering if I could get your autograph?”

The red headed man rolls his eyes at the Senator’s supposed fan. “You are interrupting an _extremely_ important lunch right now, child. Scurry back to your parents before we-“

“Hux.” Mr. Solo barks, Temiri jumping a little in place at the sudden noise. “Shut. _Up_.”

And then (Temiri can hardly believe it) the Senator _smiles at him._

This man is known best throughout the country for being the toughest, most petrifying Senate member, jokingly called _Tin Man_ in multiple publications due to the claim that he doesn’t have a heart beneath the metal exterior.

“I’m more than happy to autograph anything you like. Do you have a pen?”

Temiri’s blood is pumping so fast now, utterly starstruck and he digs faster, fishing out a sharpie but not his magazine.

That’s right.

_Rey_ has his copy of _National Review_.

“Sorry Mr. Solo. I have a pen but I left my magazine with your cover with my-“

_Oh no, am I Rey’s brother here? Or was it stepmom? Think, think, think!_

“…mom.”

One little slip up won’t hurt.

Right?  
  
  


“That’s alright. Where’s your table? I’ll come over and sign it there.”

Temiri nervously digs his toes into the carpet. “I’m actually here my myself. For lunch, I mean.”

The stern men are all watching the exchange with piercing eyes. 

“My m-mom is upstairs. On the 25th floor. She has my magazine.”

“Ah. Well…”

He turns back to the table; every single man has a brow raised and annoyance painted on their faces.

“My meeting is pretty much over. Why don’t I come join you? I haven’t seen the other floors, besides the penthouse.”

“Solo, I _swear to god_ if you-“

The Senator stands up suddenly from his red velvet chair, all eyes trailing him as he does so. One of the older men actually _gasps._

“Show the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ppl keep asking me how tf i'm writing this all in 10 chapters...the answer is...i'm not
> 
> I'm pitching 12-14 right now but who knows. How angsty should we go for this fic, guys?


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying your stay at the _Coruscant Astaria_ folks. I know I sure am. 
> 
> This chapter is nearly 1k over my usual count but oh well :/ 
> 
> Visuals:
> 
> [Inspiration for Bazine's dress](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/463589355397049477/) and [concept art ](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta/status/1288348736943398914) drawn by meee
> 
> I got nothing else for this chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> DCB

_Knock knock_

“Housekeeping!”

Rey and Rose were only a second away from barging into the Park suite until a muffled voice sounded beyond the door. Rey thought Bazine would’ve been out for the day, since it was nearly noon, but the hieress must enjoy sleeping in on the weekends.

Heels clack within the room and then suddenly, Bazine Netal is standing in the forefront of the doorframe, a black, tailored dressed shaped to her lack of curves and her hair done up in ponytail, looking every part the English Millionaire.

“Oh! You’re my maid from yesterday, aren’t you?” She glances over to Rose over her sunglasses. “And look, you brought a little friend this time. How sweet.”

Rey doesn’t have to look at Rose to know she’s absolutely fuming at Bazine’s comment.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m here for your suite’s daily cleaning and dressing.”

“ _Wonderful!”_ She slings her Birkin over her shoulder. “I was hoping you’d be maid again. There’s a very important favor I have to ask you, Rachel.”

Rey sighs. She’s not going to bother correcting a guest like _Bazine Netal._

“What can I do for you?”

Bazine begins to slip on her Armani boots, which signals to the two maids that she's about to head out. “There’s a dress bag in the closet and in it an outfit that I need returned later this afternoon. Could you be a doll and run it down for me?”

_What is up with this woman and her odd requests?_

“That’s actually more of the concierge’s-“

“Splendid!” Bazine clasps her hands together in joy, effectively cutting off Rey. The tall woman grabs at Rey’s hand and passes her a crumpled bill.

“You’re an incredible maid, Rachel!”

Rose can only stare at this entire conversation and Rey already knows she’s getting a mouthful when demon queen finally exits her suite. And not a moment too late.

Bazine shrugs on her wool coat, pulls out her cell phone and brushes by Rey and Rose.

“Thank you!”

And then Bazine Netal is _finally_ gone.

Rose waits until they’re safely within the room, the door closed and locked.

“ _Little friend,_ huh? I’ll show that woman what us _little friends_ can stick up their a-“

“Rose! She’s still a guest.”

Rose snorts at that. “Yes, well, a guest is still human. Though, now that I’ve finally seen her, it wouldn’t be a far reach to say she’s _actually_ a demon hiding underneath that caked face.”

Rey’s brows lift in response. “Didn’t you deliver the Saks order to her yesterday?”

Rose shakes her head. “No. I just passed it along to Finn and he did.”

“Well, that’s her. Bazine Netal. Probably one of the worst humans staying in this hotel right now but…”

Rey’s hand opens to reveal a crumpled hundred-dollar bill.

Rose’s jaw drops. “But _damn,_ does she tip!”

She stuffs the bill into her skirt pocket. “I’m not sure it’s worth the passive remarks, but money is money. I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re telling me,” Rose huffs out, beginning to inspect the luxury that is the Park Suite.

Rey heads back to the front door and starts to fish out re-stocking supplies from her cart. She flips the curtain that hangs over the shelves underneath, bending down to make sure she grabs the right thing. When Rey is creating a modest stack of Earl Grey, she notices the glossy magazine again, and picks it up with a stupid grin.

“Check out this jackass,” Rey announces when she enters the suite again, waving the copy of _National Review_ like a flag.

It catches Rose’s attention, who is currently flipping through the newspapers on the dining table. “Isn’t that the politician guy who’s up in the Penthouse?”

“Ye-p.” Rey lets the ‘p’ pop.

She hands Rose the magazine, who carefully scrutinizes the cover with the utmost concentration.

“Jackass indeed." Rose passes it back. "But like, tasteful jackass? He obviously has money.”

“Yes,” Rey snorts. “ _Mommy’s_ money. Temiri informed me yesterday that Senator Solo is actually the son of, get this, _Leia Organa.”_

“Wasn’t she that Senator who disowned her dad publicly or whatever?”

Rey sighs. “I don’t remember. Temiri could give you all the nitty-gritty.”

“That kid and his political obsession,” Rose smiles. “This must be his then, right? I doubt you’re reading _National Review_ during your daily forty-five minutes of free time.”

“Yea. He wants me to ask the Senator for his autograph. Promised him I would. He’s been in an awful funk since yesterday.”

Rey knows _exactly_ why he’s been in one, but she can’t tell Rose without leading to more plot holes in her lie.

“I doubt a rich asshole like him will even take fourteen seconds out of his, what I assume, very busy day, but hey. Never hurts to try?”

“Maybe he’ll make me book an _appointment_.” Rey straightens her back and puts on her best Senator’s assistant voice. “ _You have a three o’clock with the maid, Mr. Solo._ ”

The girls both giggle at the absurdity of their wealthy counterparts. Rose is most likely correct.

They don’t have time for people like them.

She sets down the magazine with Ben Solo’s glossy, printed face and forgets about it. Rey has more important things to do.

She drops off the pile of tea in the kitchenette then moves into the bedroom and begins to remake the silk sheets bed. Rose continues her wandering around the Park suite, touching numerous personal items of Ms. Netal’s.

“Damn, this perfume is like, what, two hundred bucks a bottle?” She sprays a couple spritzes on her wrist.

“Rose, we’re supposed to be _cleaning_ her room, not figuring out price tags on her stuff. Come help me out in here.”

Rose exhales a small laugh. "We're _also_ not supposed to be making fun of our loaded guests who happen to grace a magazine cover or two during our shift."

Rey just lifts a brow in annoyance. Rose has a point, but they really _do_ need to get to work.

“Alright, alright.”

The two girls help make the bed together and the process takes half the time.

“Speaking of loaded, did you hand in your application? For the management position?”

_Not unless I want the hotel potentially snooping._

“Oh that. Yea. It’s…”

Rey trails off, fluffing the throw pillows and diffusing the lie as best as she can.

Luckily, Rose has stopped listening. She’s looking into the walk-in closet, hypnotized by whatever has caught her eye. She rounds the bed and runs to the hanging clothes, Rey moving on and instead dusting the nightstand and headboard.

Rose gasps dramatically. Not in a way to concern Rey. More like a fangirl-meeting-her-favorite-celebrity kind of way.

“Rey! Bazine said she needed something in a dress bag returned, right?”

“Yea,” Rey confirms over her shoulder.

“Well…”

Rose skips back into the bedroom and plops down a black dress bag, with one, simple name printed on the top:

_CHANEL_

Rey likes fashion as much as the next New Yorker, but Rose? Fashion is her _life._

“This isn’t a _prêt-à-porter_ dress bag, Rey! Do you know what this means?”

She continues to dust. Rey doesn’t really care or understand fancy fashion labels.

“That it’s expensive. I don’t know, Rose. I need help cleaning the bathroom next though so-“

Rose begins to unzip the bag open.

“Hey!”

Rey jumps to the other side of the bed and grabs Rose’s tiny hands. “We can’t do that! These are a guest’s clothes, we’ll-“

“We’ll what? Get in trouble for _looking_?”

The thought fumbles around in Rey’s mind. Technically, no, they won’t get in trouble for unzipping this dress bag and ogling at whatever overpriced garments are inside. Rey just doesn’t like breaking the rules. She has a lot balancing on this job, including her life _and_ Temiri’s.

Rey’s too busy thinking and Rose unzips it all the way, revealing a beautiful crème-hued sweater dress, with a loose turtleneck and ribbing at the cuffs and hem. There’s a pair of black leggings hidden behind the waves of knit, with decorative leather strips down the sides.

“Oh, _fuck me,”_ Rose breathes out.

Rey smirks at her friend’s profanity. “No kidding. Looks like it came straight off a runway or something.”

“That’s because it _did!_ Rey, I don’t think you understand. This is _custom._ You have to be awfully important in order to even _try on_ this stuff. I’m talking six figures or more a year and properties on both coast kind of clientele. I can’t believe that bitchbag is returning a _custom_ dress!”

Rose’s cheeks are pink from smiling. Chanel is one of her favorite designers. Her eyes trail up and down the dress and leggings, as she gently pets the cashmere, and then Rose _starts to take the clothes off the hangers-_

“Rose!”

The sweater dress is completely out of the bag now and Rose swings it causally around her torso, sighing as the soft material presses into her bare arms. “This must be what the one percent feels like all the time.”

God, they really _are_ going to get in trouble if Rose keeps this up.

She tries to grab the dress back from Rose who’s now wearing it like a cape, the smaller woman bouncing happily around the suite wearing a piece of clothing easily worth eight months of rent.

“Leave that stuff alone,” Rey pleads. “Come on.”

But Rose just pouts and moves further into the dining room. “I’ll give the dress back to you if you tell me what size those leggings are.”

Fed up beyond belief, Rey searches the waistband of the pants, secretly amazed by the softness of the fabric. How is it possible for a textile to feel like butter?

“They’re a four,” Rey announces.

“And what size are you?”

_Oh no, goddammit Rose Tico-_

“I’m not telling you that.”

Rose laughs from the kitchenette. “Doesn’t matter if you want to or not. I know what size you are. I’ve got eyes that work like a measuring tape.”

Rey knows _exactly_ where she’s going with this. And Rose is right. She _is_ a four.

“Whatever plan you’re devising right now? Stop it. I can’t risk getting in trouble right now.”

Rose prances back into the bedroom and wraps the sweater around Rey instead.

“Rose!-“

“ _Rey Solana_. You’re young. You’re beautiful. You work harder than any other goddamn New Yorker I know. You _deserve_ this. Even if it’s just for a minute. You’ll never get another opportunity like this in your life.”

The words hit Rey like a brick for some odd reason. After years of putting her needs and wants in the background, she’s never thought about anything _more_ than work. Or money. Or Temiri.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not really into clothes anyways.”

“How about for me? I can live vicariously through your body.”

Rey cringes then gives up. “I’ll do it only if you _never_ say those words to me ever again, in that order.”

Rose jumps up and down in excitement, Rey worried that the floor beneath them will file a noise complaint.

“It’s a deal! Now all you need…” Rose goes back into the closet and comes out less than ten seconds later with a pair of golden-detailed boots. “Ah, shoes. The final touch for any outfit and any woman.”

“These are another person’s _clothes._ I can’t just-“

“Well _actually,”_ Rose says, cutting her off, “the outfit isn’t _really_ hers. And it ain’t the store’s either. So…it’s in limbo. No harm done.”

Rey sighs. Would it really be that bad to see what the other side feels like? Even if it's just a moment?

"Wouldn't be the worse thing in the world, I guess." She holds the soft dress between calloused, overworked hands. "It's not like anyone else will catch us."

Rey can't dampen the hidden excitement that's slowly rising when she gathers all the pieces and heads into the walk-in closet to change.

***

Ben’s already four drinks in by 11 am.

It takes a _lot_ of alcohol to get him to a point of tipsiness. He’s a big guy. His blood can handle enough intoxication to kill a bear. And he's been drinking since 9 am.

Brian Rivera, who’s the House Manager for the upcoming conference, babbles on and on about foreign affairs and other policy changes that have nothing to do with the brunch meeting. No one stops his tangent though.

“-have nearly forty-eight Senators that support this bill, and I know if NRA reached out to fellow Democrats, it’s possible we can-”

Ben takes a heftier sip of the golden liquid, letting it sting his tongue and throat. He’s trying so hard to listen, but after two hours of ever insistent bitching, a man can only take so much.

The glass clears of his drink, the gulp being the last of his fourth Old Fashioned. Ben searches towards the bar and makes eye contact with the female server, who seems to just _know_ , and begins to make him a fifth drink.

She makes her way to the varnished oak table in record time and plops the drink down on his coaster, removing the empty one.

“Mr. Solo, is another drink necessary?” Rivera asks.

Ben feels no guilt. He’s surprised Brian was even brave enough to _question_ his alcohol consumption, considering Ben is the one holding the most political power at the entire table.

“I’ll have you know Mr. Rivera,” Ben says, raising the crystal glass to his lips, “Seventh Regiment Armory is not an easy location to reserve for political press events, considering it’s a National Historic Landmark.”

Rivera gulps visibly across the table. Ben takes a sip.

“And I would _also_ like to remind you, that all it takes is one call for them to cancel the reservation under _my_ name.”

_You want big, mean Senator? You’re going to get him._

“So, unless you’d like to hold your session within the prestigious walls of our nearest _Marriot_ , I suggest you keep your opinions about my drinking habits to yourself, Brian.”

No one speaks a single word as Ben takes another long, languid sip, completely unbothered.

Ben’s hardly spoken during today’s meeting. Even with the liquid fire in his veins, which makes him rather talkative, he’s felt no need to pipe into any part of what he thinks is a rather useless conversation.

He also woke up with a strange feeling of…emptiness. Ben can’t describe it.

It happens often, which is typical for someone who works eighty hours a week with little to no social life and a manager who would rather chop off his balls than talk to you about anything besides his next campaign results.

Ben has literally no one. Not even a dog.

He must be monologuing in his head again, dazed off into space, because Hux clears his throat, nabbing his attention back to Senator Amret Engell of Massachusetts, who is attempting to say something to Ben.

“-and it involves the bailout of multiple low-risk prisoners within the East Coast counties.”

“We will look into it. Thank you, Senator,” Hux replies, like Ben is speaking through him.

They carry on uselessly chatter about upcoming debates, rumors about the First Lady and other, inept, boring topics that Ben couldn’t give less of a shit about if he tried. Hux cuts him off after the fifth glass of Bourbon, not without Ben protesting, but he eventually gives in, knowing that six _is_ too much.

Rivera is going on about the Pakistan deals when Ben checks his Rolex, realizing that this meeting is set to end in less than fifteen minutes, thank _god._

Hux, for some odd reason, shuts up for once and looks at something beyond the table, eyes narrowing at the tantalizing object.

“What do you want? We’re busy.”

The whole table suddenly goes silent, all three men staring at whatever it is behind Ben’s head.

It's probably a paparazzi or interviewer. Or another one of those crazy fangirls that stalked him during the Begazi trial last summer. Or it’s their waitress and Hux just enjoys being rude.

Ben turns himself around in his seat, the mahogany creaking as he does so, fully expecting any of those listed to be behind him.

What he _doesn't_ expect, though, is _a child._

He has auburn hair, with a poorly attempted bowl cut, and a smile so bright it could light up the entire dining room. He’s…what? Seven? Twelve? Ben has no clue. The last time he spoke to a child, Ben was a teen while on the B line several years ago, a young girl tugged on his sleeve and asked him if he was Keanu Reeves.

“Uh, Hi Mr. Solo!”

It surprises Ben that someone _so_ young would recognize him, nonetheless, _address_ him so formerly.

It makes his cold, numb heart warm a little. But maybe that’s the Bourbon.

Also, the kid is a good distraction from the agony that is this stupid fucking meeting.

“Hello,” Ben says, tone way kinder than he would use for anyone else.

The boy’s smile grows even wider (is that possible?) and he starts to fish for something in his bright green backpack.

“M-my name is Temiri B-Solana,” he says with slight shake in his voice, “and I watched every minute of your conference in D.C last week and the chamber meeting during the bill reform and I’m a really big fan and was wondering if I could get your autograph?”

Ben hears Hux scoff next to him. “You are interrupting an extremely important lunch right now, child.” Hux rolls his eyes mid-sentence. “Scurry back to your parents before we-“

“Hux.” Ben turns back to his manager, fire in his eyes.

“Shut. Up.”

Everyone is taken aback by the near _growl_ in Ben’s voice and it effectively quiets any further protests. Including the kid.

Ben returns his focus back to him and uncharacteristically _smiles._ The last thing he wants to do right now is make a child cry.

“I’m more than happy to autograph anything you like. Do you have a pen?”

The boy pulls a sharpie out but then inspects the inside of his backpack like he’s mining for gold. Some kind of realization hits him and his face droops.

“Sorry Mr. Solo,” he says quietly, “I have a pen but I left my magazine with your cover with my-“

He freezes, a blank look of worry crossing his face.

“…mom.”

Ben starts looking around at the surrounding booths and tables for a woman who would look similar, most likely sitting with a boyfriend or boy-toy, considering the kid never mentioned a father.

“That’s alright. Where’s your table? I’ll come over and sign it there.”

He’s looking down at the ground now, toes digging at into the carpet. “I’m actually here my myself. For lunch, I mean.”

_Is it normal to let a kind so young eat in a crowded restaurant by himself?_

“My m-mom is upstairs,” the boy continues. “On the 25th floor. She has my magazine.”

“Ah. Well…”

Meanwhile, the remaining men at the lunch table are crossing their arms and tapping toes, waiting for the entire exchange to be over with. Time is precious in the political world and Ben is currently wasting theirs.

He checks his watch again. If Ben is such a distraction, maybe he should leave. God knows it’ll put him and maybe everyone else out of the misery that is this summit.

“My meeting is pretty much over. Why don’t I come join you? I haven’t seen the other floors, besides the penthouse.”

It’s not that he _wants_ to see the rest of the hotel. Ben just doesn’t want to be _here._ Right now.

He stretches up and out of the chair, throwing the cloth napkin on the table and re-buttoning his suit jacket. Senator Engell gasps.

Ben has pushed every possible one of Hux's buttons. “Solo, I swear to god if you-“

But Ben ignores the hothead and motions forward to the French doors of the exit for the young boy to lead.

“Show the way.”

The kid practically _skips_ of the restaurant to the elevator, his backpack bouncing up and down.

None of the men protest his sudden exit.

“This is so awesome! Thanks again Mr. Solo!” he says when they enter the elevator, Ben scanning his key card and pressing _25._

“Believe me, I should be the one thanking you…”

_Shit. What was this kid’s name again? It’s a weird one. Timothy? Teddy…?_

“Temiri,” he says, finishing Ben’s thought.

“That’s right. Thank you, Temiri. If I had to sit at that table for another minute, I think I would’ve begun to yank my hair out.”

The elevator dings as they ascend the floors. Ben stares straight ahead at the bronze doors, unsure what to talk to a child about, and when he glances back down, Temiri is staring straight at him.

“Is there…something on my face?” Ben starts wiping around his mouth. He’s embarrassed himself enough already.

Temiri shakes his head, a giggle in his throat. “No sir. It’s just really cool to meet you in real life. My favorite speech was the one you did in 2018, when you talked about the climate change act and how it effects big-oil monopolies.”

It’s not every day you meet a kid interested in politics. Or anything about the real, grown-up world anyways.

“Wow, that’s a pretty specific Senate meeting. You must’ve been, what? Three years old in 2018? Four?”

The kid starts giggling loudly now. “No!” More giggling. “I was eight! I’m ten now and I’m already in fifth grade.”

The final _ding_ sounds throughout the elevator, and they both exit, Ben a little ashamed that he wasn’t even _close_ to the kid’s actual age.

Temiri looks back and forth until he spots a door at the very end of the northern hallway. He tightens the straps on his backpack and walks towards it, Ben only a few steps behind.

He knocks a small hand on _2515_ and the door cracks open, someone inspecting the guest right outside.

“Oh, _phew,”_ they say, sighing and closing the door, only to reopen it completely.

A short woman with dark hair stands in the doorframe, an apron tied around her waist and a name tag pinned on her chest. She doesn’t notice Ben standing three feet away.

“It’s Temiri!” the woman beckons back to the suite, letting the young boy and unbeknownst to her, the much taller man, into the room.

“What are you doing up here?” A voice calls from the bedroom.

The short woman goes to close the door and then freezes when she finally notices Ben standing awkwardly in the suite’s dining area.

“Mom!” Temiri shouts to the closed sliding doors leading to the bedroom. “Where’s my magazine?”

“ _Temiri_ ,” the voice says, laced with annoyance. The doors begin to slide open. “What did we talk about this morn-“

Even with a look of pure and utter shock, her face is beautiful; a map of soft curves and hazel eyes that blend into framing, chestnut hair. For a woman who has a ten-year-old son, she looks _ridiculously_ good for her age. The vanilla-colored sweater dresses contrasts perfectly with her tan skin and the heeled boots give the illusion that her legs are a mile long.

He doesn't say anything. He _can't_ say anything. Ben just stares. 

Why aren't any words coming? It's his _job_ to talk. It's literally what he does best.

_Benjamin Solo, a politician feared more than death, is blushing._

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be wondering, how is a basic knit turtle-neck dress so expensive? Well, I am here to teach you about **whole garment knitwear** : the most expensive and customizable knitting possible in the fashion industry. 
> 
> It's hard to explain, but basically, the machine that made Bazine's dress is really rare and hard to create, and the knitted product has no seams, fitting the client like a second skin. 
> 
> [Here's](https://knitbeat.wordpress.com/2018/01/14/cut-and-sew-fully-fashioned-and-whole-garment-manufacturing-for-knitwear/) a blog post that differentiates cut & sew vs fully fashioned vs whole garment knitwear. 
> 
> see y'all next chapter ;D


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaos, chaos, chaos...
> 
> Visuals 
> 
> [Bethesda terrace](https://www.centralpark.com/downloads/3534/download/bethesda-terrace.jpe?cb=783665e2e86dabe11fdbe675f24e26c4&w=1200)
> 
>   
> [Gapstow Bridge](https://centralpark.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/67051282-gapstow-bridge-in-the-autumn-in-central-park-new-york-city-.jpg)
> 
>   
> [The tabloid cover](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta/status/1289121245544370178)
> 
> enjoy~  
> DCB

Rose is finally the one to break the silence.

“Ma-Ma’am you have a visitor,” she stutters out, like Rey and everyone else on the planet hasn’t noticed the entire other fucking human being standing there.

Rose shakes Rey mildly, if only for the moment, out of her stupor, and she looks down to make desperate eye contact with Temiri, trying to communicate telepathically with him.

_What the hell is going on?_

_Why is he calling her Mom?_

Her eyes snap back up to the uninvited and unexpected guest. Out of all the people in the world to catch her playing dress-up, it’s the man who she called a pretentious, rich jackass only minutes ago.

_And why is the Senator of New York in the Park suite???_

“Uhhh…” Rey dumbly drones out, “hi.”

“Hi,” the giant man across the room whispers back.

She clears her throat a little louder than necessary, her gaze flicking back to Temiri.

“Temiri, is there a reason why the Senator is paying us a visit to th- _our_ suite?”

If the young boy is fazed at all by Rey’s elaborate get up, he’s doing a hell of a job hiding it. Temiri is positively _glowing_ with his guest in tow, his arms latched happily behind as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

“I spotted Mr. Solo in the restaurant. When I asked for his autograph, I forgot that you had my magazine.” Temiri starts searching the glass table next to him. “So, I asked _real_ politely and we came up here-”

His eyes lock onto the copy of _National Review,_ the object sitting innocently against the stacks of newspapers.

“There it is!” He rushes over and picks it up. “Here, Mr. Solo,” Temiri says, handing him the magazine and then fishing out a sharpie from his pocket, which he also passes over gladly.

Temiri’s squeaking voice shakes Mr. Solo out of _his_ daze as he looks down to the boy, his mouth finally closing and then morphing to a half-grin.

“How do you spell ‘Temiri’?” Mr. Solo asks, voice strangely high.

Isn’t this man supposed to be terrifying? Temiri told her that his nickname in Congress is _Tin Man._

“T-E-M-I-R-I,” he spells out, the bounce still in his step.

Meanwhile Rose has snuck around the dining area and is now shoulder to shoulder with Rey, watching the scene before her with equal shock.

“ _Rey, can you please explain what in god’s name is happening right now?_ ” Rose whispers, low enough that the boys can’t hear her.

“I-I don’t…” What _is_ happening? What _exactly_ did Temiri tell the Senator? “I don’t know.”

“Mom!”

Rey jolts. She’s _especially_ not used to _that._

“Um, yes baby?” Rey answers, trying not to let her voice crack.

“Are we still going to the park after lunch today? Remember this morning, you told me if I was good and ate all my lunch, we could go to river and feed the ducks?”

No, Rey does _not_ remember making such a promise this morning, but she most likely did before her first cup of coffee.

“Um, sure.”

“Well, I went down to the restaurant and ordered a bowl of mac and cheese _all by myself,_ and I ate the entire thing, so can we go?”

Mr. Solo just stands there, eyes moving between Temiri and Rey.

“Temiri…” Rey begins to trail.

This is quite possibly the _worse_ time to go and run around Central Park. She’s wearing a hotel guest’s five figure outfit, for god’s sake. “ _I_ still haven’t eaten any food yet, so it would still be a little bit before we-“

“How about hot dogs?”

Everyone in the room looks to Mr. Solo, who’s voice has gone back to normal, low and serious.

This is _not_ the kind of thing she would ever expect him to say. The sentiment is shared by Rose as well, who’s brows raise up to her hairline.

“Hot dogs?” Rey asks, genuine surprise in her voice.

“Uh, yea,” he says, “My mother and I use to go to this hot dog stand by the Bethesda Terrace, just a tiny one, but the Mexican dog there is still my favorite.”

“Oooo!” Temiri exclaims, running over to Rey. “That sounds good! Can we go, Mom?”

Temiri grabs at the fabric near her hips, jumping up and down in sheer thrill. She doesn’t have the strength to tell him not to yank at the expensive cashmere because she’s lost on one thought:

_Is the New York Senator asking Rey and her pretend son to go eat hot dogs with him in Central Park?_

Phew. What a world.

“You just ate, Temiri,” Rey reminds him. But it’s also a warning.

“And I think it would be rather rude to take up so much of Mr. Solo’s… _time._ We can go over to the deli next door, then I can-“

The Senator clears his throat. “It’s, ah, no problem. No problem at all. I’m starving, anyways.”

Her brow quirks at _that._

“Are you sure, Mr. Solo? Because I’m sure you’re a very busy man with-“

“Ben,” he says, cutting her off.

Rey blinks a few times. “Excuse me?”

He takes three giant steps forward until he’s only a breath away.

“Call me Ben. Mr. Solo was my father.”

_Ben_ removes his hand from his pocket and extends it to her.

_Sweet Jesus his hands are hu-_

“Mrs. Solana, if I’m correct?”

Rey just stands there, gaping, unsure of what name to repeat back to him, because if she says _Solana_ then the hotel could _easily_ figure out her current mess, but Temiri must have already told him _her_ last name because he got the sibling/stepmom thing mixed up again and-

“Bazine?” Rose pipes out after a century of silence. “Would you like me to grab you your coat? It is a rather nice day for a walk.”

Rey turns to look at the shorter maid, complete panic in her eyes. She honestly can’t tell if Rose is trying to help or hurt the current situation.

“Uh. Yes please. Thank you,” she responds, not quite registering what she just agreed to.

“ _Bazine_ , huh?” Ben says to her as she shakes his hand like a wet fish. “That’s an interesting name. What is it, Greek? Persian?”

Rey has no fucking clue where _Bazine_ comes from. It sounds like an ayahuasca variation.

“I-it’s, _err,_ French. Actually.”

The only two words Rey knows in French are _baguette_ and _oui._

“Well, _Bazine,_ it’s very nice to meet the mother of the kid who could recall a Senate debate I performed over two years ago. Don’t meet a lot like them, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Rey nervously giggles, Ben awkwardly joining.

Rose promptly returns back from the closet and drapes a black wool coat over Rey, helping Rey’s Jello limbs through the sleeves.

It hits her that she’s putting on a coat to leave the building. And walk around Central park. _With the fucking Senator of New York._

Temiri clasps her hand, eager to leave. “Let’s goooo.”

“W-wait a minute, Temiri. _-_ ”

Ben notices her hesitation. “I was going out anyways, so it’s truly not a problem for me, if you’re worried. And if your husband wouldn't mind....”

“She doesn’t have a husband,” Temiri says through a shit-eating grin to Ben.

Rey sucks in a breath.

“I don’t have a husband.”

“O-oh,” Ben inelegantly stutters, “I just thought it was _Mrs._ Solana-“

“Solana is Temiri’s father’s name. I, _uh_ , go by my maiden name. Netal.”

_My bullshitting is becoming a little too rapid,_ Rey scolds at herself, even though her quick thinking has practically saved her ass.

“Got it. So then, Ms. Netal, would you and your son like to accompany me for a quick lunch in the park?”

Ben’s words are like spiced rum; warm, polite and with enough bite to sends a zing through Rey’s blood and the layers of lies she’s been building.

But the reality of his tone hits her like a bucket of ice water.

The Senator is only being suave and kind because he’s been fooled. He thinks she’s an elite guest, staying in one of the most exclusive suites of the entire hotel and _not_ the maid he nearly pissed in front of just the day before.

“Um.” Rey looks down to Temiri, who’s giving her puppy eyes she can’t refuse.

Temiri will never forgive her if she says no.

Rey’s gotten this far in life by playing pretend; pretending bills aren’t an issue, pretending that Plutt won’t burst into her apartment and beat her to death, pretending that she’s _already_ Temiri’s mom.

She sighs. “I guess we can go. But only for half an hour, no more.”

Rey can do this.

Right?

***

It’s a breezy but bright afternoon in Central park, not too warm but not too cold. Leaves crunch under a pair of patent leather Oxfords, Jimmy Choo boots and Target clearance-section Batman sneakers.

The three of them rode in near silence down the elevator and through the lobby, Rey avoiding any and all gazes from potential co-workers who would recognize her in an instant. Many of them have only met Temiri a couple times, so he’s not _too_ obvious.

They walk a solid two feet apart, Rey’s hands nervously tucked into the oversized pockets of Bazine’s coat. Temiri is running ahead, jumping at the birds that fly over head the dirt path they stroll on.

“The weather is fantastic today, isn’t it?” Ben says, finally breaking the silence.

Rey just nods back, her tongue like a stone trapped in her mouth.

“So, Temiri…” he begins, trying to ease the energy between them. “What got him so into politics? It’s not every day a seven-year-old will recognize me.”

“Ten.” Rey sharply corrects. “He’s ten, actually.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I forgot he told me earlier. It’s just, you look so young and well-“

Ben stretches an arm up to tuff lightly at his hair. Is this man trying to ask for a lady’s age?

That’s, like, rule #1 on the _forbidden questions to ask any women_ list.

“If you’re so curious, Mr. Solo, I’m plenty old enough to be raising Temiri. And I think I’m doing a pretty good job by myself.”

It’s not a _total_ lie. While Rey _isn’t_ really old enough to raise a kid practically in middle school, she damn well thinks she’s been doing a great job raising him this far.

“My apologies, Ms. Netal.” He turns his head towards the young boy, his smile growing wider. “It appears you are.”

Rey follows his line of vision where he’s watching Temiri bend down and pick up a phone that a heavily pregnant passerby has dropped, the anonymous woman smiling and thanking him as they cross ways.

The gesture makes Rey’s heart leap into her throat, always so amazed at the kindness a kid with so much trauma can exude. She smiles a genuine smile, her face relaxing a bit as her eyes lovingly follow Temiri down the path.

“You’re smiling.”

Rey tries to turn her frown back on but it’s to no avail.

“It’s alright to, you know.”

“You, Mister Politician, are telling me to _smile_?” Rey scoffs at _who’s_ talking. “I thought your whole schtick was ‘ _stone cold Senator who doesn’t have time or care for anything besides the Republican party’_ ”.

Ben says nothing. At first, she thinks she’s completely pissed him off, but when she gazes up with hesitance, he’s silently laughing.

“ _What?”_ Rey asks with actual irritation.

“It’s just that- “ he breathes out, trying to collect himself, “I’m not a Republican. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“And _that’s_ what’s making you giggle like a pre-pubescent teenager?”

Her snide comment makes Ben bark a laugh out, even as he tries his best to muffle it.

“Ms. Netal, I must say, you are the first person I’ve met in _decades_ who has out-right _insulted_ me in the first few minutes we’ve known each other.”

“Is that so?” Rey careens her neck up to him, brow raised, “there hasn’t been a single drink thrown in your face by a pair of pretty eyes?”

His brows raise as well, but for a seemingly different reaction. “Not as of right now, but I think a pair of them might later if I keep this up, though.”

_A pair of pretty eyes…later…_

Is-

Is Mr. Solo _hitting on her?_

“You must not read the tabloids, Ms. Netal.”

The mention of _tabloids_ focuses Rey's attention back to earth because she has no idea what’s he talking about. She barley has time to read her Facebook feed.

“They're not my first choice of literature. But what does that have to do with you picking up women?”

Ben grins, then starts to search the area around them, until he spots a newspaper stand several feet away, breaking out in a jog over to the small cart.

Rey stops her pacing, Temiri returning to her while Mr. Solo is pre-occupied for the moment.

“ _Temiri Daniel Blagg,”_ she whispers down to him, fire behind every word, _“_ this is _not_ the time to ask you, but you will later be explaining every single thing you told Mr. Solo, in thorough detail, the minute we step back into that apartment. _Got it?_ ”

“Alright, _mom.”_

Rey groans, “You little-“

Then Ben’s back, a bit out of breath, and a handful of miscellaneous tabloids in both hands. Temiri peers over the top of the pile. “What are those, Mr. Solo?”

What kind of game is he trying to play at? Showing off the supermodels he’s able to snag as a rich, white man?

“I don’t understand what this has to do with women….”

Rey’s trails off when she notices the largest headline, in an ugly, bright yellow font:

_Senator Solo Exposed!_

And then in smaller, less bold writing:

_Read about his secret boyfriend and scandalous vacation. You’ll be shocked!_

Oh.

Oh no.

_Oh no._

Rey has misread. This entire. Fucking. Afternoon.

“I didn’t know, oh my god,” Rey stumbles, redacting and defending as much as possible, “and here I was, thinking you were _flirting_ earlier, Mr. Solo. I’m so sorry, wow, I _really_ didn’t do my research properly.”

How did Rey not know that Ben Solo was _gay?_

It seems like something Temiri would have brought up ages ago.

Temiri scrunches his nose as he read the magazine over Ben’s hands with a puzzled expression.

“That’s weird,” Temiri says, “I thought the New York Times said this whole thing was just a rumor. It was during a big discreditation of major political tabloids last year. And wouldn’t you be wearing one of those rainbow pins like Senator Pérez does?”

Both Rey and Ben freeze.

First of all, where _the hell_ did Temiri learn a word like _discreditation?_

And second, if Temiri’s right and Ben is _not_ gay then…

She looks up to the broad man whose face is as red as a tomato.

“Smart kid,” Ben chokes out, folding the tabloids in half and stuffing them into his suit jacket’s pocket. “How about we go get those hot dogs? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m _famished.”_

***

Ben ordered three hot dogs and three extra hot dog buns.

For a kid who’s just eaten lunch, Temiri sure is quick to scarf down a chili cheese dog, having finished the whole thing before they reached the Gapstow bridge.

The adults haven’t touched their food yet.

They rest elbows on the stony surface of the bridge and look over the river’s edge, up towards the New York skyline. Temiri is next to his mother, ripping off small chunks of his bun and tossing them to the awaiting ducks.

“Ooo! Mom look at that green one there! He ate it so fast!”

The boy erupts into a series of giggles, the woman next to him, Bazine, cracking a smile.

Ben finally seizes the opportunity to break the awkwardness.

“Sorry about the whole tabloid thing, Ms. Netal," he whispers, making sure the kid can't overhear, "I had no idea that _you_ had no idea and I uh-“

He’s cut off when her face slowly turns up to meet his, her golden-flecked eyes meeting him bravely.

“It’s fine, Mr. Solo, really.”

“Ben,” he corrects.

Hearing her say _Mr. Solo_ makes him feel old.

“That’s right, _Ben._ I should really be the one apologizing,” Bazine says, tone softening. “I-I haven’t been the nicest to you in the twenty minutes we’ve known each other.”

_God, her blush makes her perfect face even more perfect._

“It's alright, Ms. Netal. I’m not entirely sure _where_ the initial rumor started but Temiri is correct," he explains, "The _New York Times_ did this huge article a while back since so many people were seriously speculating about my sexuality.”

Her eyes nervously flit down to the hot dog, then back up to him. “So then you’re not…?”

“Oh, Lord,” Ben breathes out, dramatically slapping a hand to his face which entices a giggle from Bazine.

Her laugh is airy and twinkly. Almost unearthly. Ben wants to hear it again.

“ _No,_ Ms. Netal, I am not gay. I haven’t clearly said that myself for a couple years now, but no. I am unfortunately a heterosexual.”

Another laugh. It sends a rush of serotonin to Ben’s brain.

“Do you always have conversations like this? Is this, like, normal to talk about in the political world?” She takes the first bite of her hot dog and looks up to Ben, waiting.

He sighs, past conversations popping into his head, including the ones he had to already endure today. “Most of the talking I do or listen to is dreadful, if I’m being honest. I’ve grown up with all this jargon my entire life, and I _loved_ it back then, but when I actually threw myself into work and the government, the sugar turned to salt.”

Ben looks past Bazine to her son who is at the farthest end of the bridge quacking at the ducks.

“Temiri practically rescued me from one of the most head-splitting luncheons I’ve ever attended in my life. I swear these assholes just like to hear themselves talk.”

Bazine scoffs and says under her breath, “ _You’re one to talk.”_

Ben pretends not to hear her.

“On the topic of talking, I’ll have to be doing a god-awful amount of it this upcoming Friday at the Mayor’s Ball. Anyone who’s anyone will be there.”

Her eyebrows scrunch as she finishes the first half of her hot dog, like wheels are turning in her head.

“Why go then? If you’re going to be so miserable.”

“I just have to,” Ben says, sighing. “My manager is forcing me to make an appearance and _chatter_ with people who I could care less about.”

"That sounds tiresome," she utters sarcastically. 

Ben picks up on it.

Bazine looks away and turns her head to the end of the bridge, shouting “Temiri!"

" _What?"_ the kid barks back.

"Come get my hot dog bun. I won’t use it.”

“Me neither,” Ben adds over her shoulder.

The boy happily skips over to them and plucks the two remaining buns, thanking them and running back to his small gathering of ducks that await further feeding.

She waits a few moments, eating the last bite of her hot dog and chewing not only the food but on words she wants to say.

"At least they feed you well at those functions right?"

It takes him a minute to realize she's still talking about the Mayor's ball. 

"Oh, sure. Four courses usually."

A thought pops up in Ben’s head.

And for once, Hux will actually _like_ this one.

“Ms. Netal, would you like to accompany me next Friday? As my date to the ball?”

Then this poor woman _chokes_ on the air, definitely not expecting him to respond with _that._

“Are you serious?”

He’s wearing a grin that does not coincide with her pure look of alarm.

"Dead serious. I think Temiri is a little to young to go but-"

Speak of the devil suddenly appears, fresh out of hot dog buns and shivering a little. 

“I left my jacket at the hotel and it’s kinda cold in the shade. Can we go back and grab it?”

Ben’s surprised the kid didn’t freeze the first twenty minutes they arrived. He’s only in a crew neck t-shirt and corduroy pants.

"Hotel...?" 

Her face suddenly pales.

“Hotel!"Bazine repeats, this time in a high pitch voice. She starts digging in her pockets fervently. “Uh, Mr. Solo, what time is it? It looks like I left my phone back in the room.”

He checks the Rolex. “11:50. Why?”

Bazine begins to button up the wool coat and grabs Temiri’s backpack from him, looping it around her shoulder instead.

“We’re _incredibly_ late to something right now, I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it until now, but we need to get going.”

They both turn to go, icy panic flooding Ben’s veins.

“Wait! Could I get your number or-? How can I contact you?”

“Thank you, Mr. So- _Ben._ The hot dog was great.” She looks down at his untouched one still sitting in its paper holder.

“Do you have an email? Social media?”

Bazine just smiles, her eyes going soft.

“Goodbye Ben. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye!” Temiri repeats, much more ecstatically.

She grabs at the boy’s hand and says nothing more, Ben watching their two figures run down the trail path and disappear behind the forestation of Central Park.

He didn’t say goodbye. The words never formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was SO hard to write ngl. It's difficult because Rey obviously _wants_ to dislike Ben, but little bb just can't. 
> 
> Ben is head over heels lol. No problem with him here.


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have rewatched _Maid in Manhattan_ approximately eighteen times since I started this fic a week ago. 
> 
> That being said, this chapter is chalked full of iconic dialogue from the movie. Couldn't help myself lol. 
> 
> [Rey and Temiri](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta/status/1289975186947584000)
> 
> Enjoy <3  
> DCB

Rose, being the amazing friend she is, meets Rey and Temiri at the hotel’s back entrance with her uniform, apron and shoes.

Rey throws the jacket off and tosses it to Rose, slipping the plain-blue dress over the Chanel one, and sneaking into the locker room as quickly as possible.

Temiri peels off quietly and efficiently without another word to the break room.

Once they are safely behind the push door, Rose checks if the coast is clear before Rey yanks the dress up and over her head. The leggings peel off along with the boots, the afternoon still not _quite_ hitting Rey.

“Why did Temiri call you _mom?_ ”

Rey knew this question was coming, so she prepared.

“I told him to say that. Whenever people ask about me, it’s just easier to say I’m his mom, since ours is never home anyways.”

She looks at Rose with a hopeful face, praying she’ll just accept the shitty answer.

“Okay,” Rose shrugs, “I guess that’s kinda weird, but whatever floats your boat.”

Rey lets out a breath of relief. She didn’t expect her to buy it _that_ easily.

Rose then moves onto another topic of questions besides Rey and her supposed brother’s relationship.

“What was he like? Did you guys really eat hot dogs? Did he figure out anything?”

Rey’s buttoning up the uniform with shaky fingers, the five-figure clothes shoved haphazardly into her locker. “Yes, we ate hotdogs. There really was a stand by the terrace. But no, he didn’t figure out anything. Hopefully.”

Rose sits on the bench, at the edge of her seat.

“Okay, but like, was he nice? Did he grab your hand? Oh shit, how big are _his_ hands-“

“Rose!” she exclaims, blushing.

It’s enough of an answer for the shorter maid.

“God, can you imagine what a man of Senator Solo’s size could _do_ you to? His bicep probably has the same circumference as your _waist._ Jesus, that beast could take _me_ for all I care, I didn’t know he smelled _so good_ in real life-“

“Christ, Rose! Do you ever stop thinking about t-the… _sausage_? For a second?”

Rose giggles as Rey slips on her shoes, her blush now a full bloom.

“Nope.” Rose sighs. “I really need a boyfriend.”

_“Obviously…”_ Rey grumbles out.

The chances of Rey doing _anything_ with the Senator, nonetheless anything _intimate_ is close to zero. There’s no way Rey can wear clothes that expensive, and if he meets her face-to-face once more, he’ll ask _more_ questions.

Which is the _last_ thing Rey needs right now: more questions.

“I can’t meet up with him again.”

Rey wraps her apron around her waist as Rose looks up to her seriously for the first time since she came back from the park.

“But do you _want_ to see him again?”

She freezes, mid-tie of her apron. Even if he’s a little pretentious and out of touch, there’s _something_ about Ben Solo that makes her curious to discover more.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what I want anyways, I’d be in a shit ton of trouble if management found anything out.”

“But what if management _doesn’t_ find out?”

Rey groans. “What am I supposed to do? Make his bed with me in it?”

Rose mischievously grins at her.

“That’d be my plan,” she taunts, wriggling her eyebrows.

“Rose Tico!”

Rose laughs in amusement.

Rey laughs anxiously.

***

Having nothing else planned for his Saturday afternoon, Ben Solo wanders around Central park until dusk, watching the birds fly overheard and letting every call he gets go to voicemail.

He only gets ambushed once by a photographer. Ben flips the camera a quick middle finger, knowing nothing can get published with obscene gestures.

Ben _finally_ wanders back to the _Coruscant Astaria_ at 6:30 pm, walking into the penthouse suite with only one thing- _one_ woman, and her charming son, on his mind.

Hux is sitting in one of the loveseats, legs crossed and severe anger in his eyes.

“I almost called the police; I’ll have you know. For a potential kidnapping,” he growls out.

Ben unbuttons his suit jacket and tosses it along with the trashy tabloids onto the desk.

“Look Hux, I’m sorry you almost shit your pants while I was gone for however many hours, but I think you’re _really_ going to like what I was doing.”

The red head groans, rubbing hands across his forehead and eyes. “Unless you were actively having sex with a woman in front of a _New York Times_ reporter, I doubt I’ll be _that_ happy.”

Ben chokes on his spit. He didn’t know Hux was _that_ desperate to prove his sexuality.

“Is the whole homosexual thing really _that_ bad for my image, Hux?”

“When it’s not true, yes! Misinformation is still misinformation, and until it’s publicly cleared, I have to sit on my ass all day, phoning moron after moron until my _ears bleed!_ ”

Hux evidently needs some kind of anger management class. Or he needs to buy a bong.

“I was at the park.”

“Great,” Hux says behind folded hands.

“With a woman.”

_That_ makes his manager perk up.

“A…woman?” Hux whispers out, “Seriously? Like on a _date_?” 

Ben sits and relaxes back into the leather desk chair. “I’m not sure _she’d_ call it a date, but it’s the closest one I’ve had since high school. She even insulted me a few times.”

“Lucky lady,” Hux scoffs. “Does she have a name? _Wait-“_

“What?”

“Don’t tell me, is it the _mother_ of the kid who interrupted our lunch?”

Damn, Ben didn’t expect Hux to figure it out so early. He _is_ smart. Ben forgets this often.

“Yes. Her name is Bazine Netal. She’s staying in the Park suite with her son.”

Hux hums, almost satisfied but not quite. “Netal, huh? Name sounds familiar. I’ll have Mitaka do a full background-“

“Not yet,” Ben interrupts. “You can do it if she agrees to go with me next Friday.”

“Next Friday?”

The realization hits Hux like a train.

“You asked her to the _Mayor’s Ball?_ Jesus Christ Ben, I could kiss you right now.”

“Please don’t.”

Hux continues like he didn’t even hear Ben.

“I wouldn’t have to salvage anymore reports of stories, hell, if a woman is seen as your date, one that’s high in status like her, I’ll be home free!” Hux is pacing excitingly around the suite’s office. “When are you seeing her next?”

Ben sucks in a breath and starts to nervously scratch his neck. “Yea, about that…she didn’t give me a number or anything. All I know is where she’s staying.”

Hux stops mid-step, obviously brainstorming, like he would for a major political campaign. He then wordlessly walks over to the telephone at the desk, punches in a few numbers and brings the console to his ear.

“Yes, hello? Is this the butler service? Oh yes, Finn, that’s right.”

Ben peers curiously up to Hux, who hovers right over the desk.

“Could you get a message to Ms. Bazine Netal of the Park suite? Yes, whatever floor you just said. Tell her to please come meet Mr. Solo in his penthouse this coming Monday for lunch, 2 pm.”

_How the hell did Ben not think of that???_

“Okay. Oh! And can you write some romantic shit on it? Thanks much.”

Hux shoves the phone back to its dock, a grin littering his face. Ben can only gape at him.

His manager has actually been _useful_ for once.

“You’ve got a date this Monday, Mr. Solo. I hope you’ve brought your nicest suit. You’re going to need it.”

***

The tamales Rey bought for dinner on the way home are still too hot to eat, even though they usually eat them on the walk from the stand that sits on the corner of Spencer and 261st to the apartment.

Rey swings the plastic bag, laughing with Temiri about the crazy day behind them. Rey knows she told him to spill when they got home, but she’s been interrogating him since they boarded the bus.

“So, tell me again, you called me _Mom_ because you-?”

“Got it mixed up. Like I did at school that one time.”

Rey groans, but it’s lighthearted. “God, kid, you’re gonna kill me! I already have enough double-lifes for us to begin with, and now the Senator of New York thinks I’m a _guest_ at the hotel. A _real_ one might I add! Bazine Netal is _not_ someone I want to get messed up with.”

“But…wasn’t it like being in a fairytale?”

They turn the corner to their street where various kids are playing soccer in the middle of a somewhat busy street.

“I guess,” Rey sighs. “But fairytale or not, what we did today was wrong.”

“But you didn't really lie. Not technically,” Temiri retorts.

_Oh yes, I absolutely did._ Rey thinks. _The minute I put on that Chanel dress was when the very first lie began._

“You’re starting to sound like a Senator now, baby.”

Temiri laughs a little at that.

“Letting someone believe something's true when it's not is just as much a lie as a lie is.”

They walk down the block, the dusty, cold air of the Bronx blowing at their jackets.

“I let him think l was staying in the suite, not cleaning it,” Rey continues, attempting to drill this lesson into Temiri’s impressionable brain. “I'm the maid. Not some wealthy heiress with Daddy issues.”

They’re at the steps of the apartment, trudging up the two flights until Rey’s fishing her keys out of her pockets. Temiri’s obviously been thinking of something to say back.

“I hate to break it to you…” he starts as Rey turns the key, “I don’t think he’s after your money.”

Rey nearly drops their plastic bag full of tamales, her jaw dropped to the floor.

“You did _not_ just say that.”

Temiri just skips into the apartment, shrugging off his Minecraft backpack and red jacket.

“God, you are such a _shit_ sometimes!”

He laughs, extremely used to the profanities used often in New York City. “That’s a whole _five dollars_ for the swear jar, Sissy!”

“God _dammit!_ ” Rey curses again, before realizing her mistake.

“Six!” Temiri yells from their bedroom.

Rey may have had a fairytale moment this afternoon, but being here, joking with Temiri and waiting for dollar-cheap tamales to cool is worth more than anything- or _man_ in the world.

***

On Sunday morning, Rey walks back into the _Coruscant Astaria_ at 7 am sharp, Temiri in tow with a backpack full of homework.

She lets him punch in, since he loves to so much, but instead of hanging out in the break room, Temiri is being subjected to the office of the hotel’s head tailor, _Marisa_.

“ _Please_ ,” he jokingly begs. “Anywhere but _her_ office.”

For a minute, Rey almost feels pity. Marisa is a prick, but she’ll watch him with a careful eye. Rey can’t have Temiri wandering around the hotel anymore.

“I don’t know Temiri…”

“What about Ackbar’s office? The security booth? I know he likes me.”

Rey glances over to the old man sitting and watching the monitors with professional eyes. Out of all the people to suggest, that’s probably a good bet.

“Fine. But _you_ have to ask him.”

Temiri grins and runs over to the booth, leaning over the counter adjacent to the punch machine.

“Mr. Ackbar! Can I hang with you today?”

The older man with the bulging forehead looks over Temiri’s head to Rey, who places her hands in a mock prayer, pleading overdramatically.

Ackbar sighs, but then smiles at the boy. “Sure. Why not?”

“Yes!” Temiri is already at the security door, Ackbar opening it for him and settling down at the empty chair in the corner.

“Thanks, Ackbar!” Rey calls, already on her way to the locker room. “And be good, Temiri! Or else he’ll arrest you!”

Rey catches a thumbs-up from both figures in the booth.

Number one on today’s plan is to get the Chanel dress, Dolce coat and Jimmy Choo boots up to Bazine’s room before she notices.

She quickly gets into uniform, then carefully folds the clothes in a wrap of towels, disguising them so she can transport them on her cart.

And, thank her absolute luck, Bazine calls at 8:30 am for an extra supply of, _get this-_

_Towels._

Maybe Rey _is_ lucky.

She lugs the cart up to the 25th floor, down the hall to the Park suite, where she quickly raps at the door, a stack of actual towels above the fake ones.

“Come in!”

Rey opens the unlocked door to first and foremost see _ass._

Bazine and her friend from the other day are on those fancy exercise bikes, their asses high in the air as they pedal like they're biking for the fucking lives.

Rey tries not to snort.

They even have a third person, _an instructor,_ on a bike as well right by the balcony’s glass doors.

“One more minute ladies! You can do this, keep those behinds up!”

Rey ignores them as best as she can, starting to walk to the bedroom’s sliding doors.

“Wait! Rachel! Bring me a towel, please!” Bazine huffs out.

She freezes, only a few steps away from salvation, turning and handing her a towel off the top of the pile.

“And me too, por favor,” the friend with awful pink highlights asks.

Not only is this woman _ridiculously_ racist; she’s wrong. Rey is Polish. Not Latina. And that there might be even _more_ racist.

“Uh, sure.” She hands her the second towel. “I’m going to re-dress your bathroom, Ma’am.”

Bazine just waves a sweaty hand at the maid. “Yes, yes. Thanks Rachel.”

Rey all but _sprints_ to the doors, closing them and setting to work in the closet. Rose hung up the empty dress bag and cleverly hid it towards the back-left corner, hoping Bazine wouldn’t notice a ten-thousand-dollar dress missing and the bag not.

Obviously, Rose’s plan worked.

She hangs everything up with lighting speed, smoothing any wrinkles on the pristine white cashmere. The coat is hung up next, then the boots shoved to the bottom of her monstrous pile of shoes.

Rey sighs. Everything is returned. There’s no evidence of what she did yesterday.

Well, there _kind of_ is, but it’s not solid like a dress or pair of boots.

_His chest is pretty solid though, and those forearms-_

“Ugh! No!” Rey scolds herself quietly. It’s _not_ the time to thirst about the Senator.

She busies herself with cleaning the bathroom, cursing at her stupid, twenty-two-year-old mind and libido. It’s not her fault she hasn’t… _done_ anything since high school. _That_ fault would lie on the ten-year-old sitting at the security booth 26 floors down.

They share the same bed _for god’s sake_.

Rey momentarily stops her inner brawling when a knock sounds loudly at the door.

“Come in!” Bazine shouts again, out of breath.

The door creaks open, the guest unknown to Rey who hides behind the bedroom’s sliding door.

“Ms. Netal?" It's Finn's voice. "I have a message from Benjamin Solo in the Penthouse suite." 

The fancy bikes screech to a halt.

“ _Benjamin Solo?!”_ the annoying friend bellows.

“Yes, Ma’am. He is wondering if you have received the message I left in your suite last night, and he is patiently awaiting your response.”

“Wait,” Bazine says, stepping off the bike and loudly thudding to the floor, “ _the_ Benjamin Solo? Like, Senator of New York Benjamin Solo?”

Finn is obviously a little irritated. “Yes, that would be him.”

Rey can’t help but peer around the door’s frosted glass.

Finn picks up an envelope from the entrance table and extends it out to Bazine with a gloved hand. She snatches it with more force than necessary, the butler flinching as she does so.

Bazine rips into it like a shedder, eyes scanning the letter faster than she can speak.

“ _Mr. Ben Solo would like you to join him in the Penthouse suite this Monday at 2 pm for lunch_ ,” she reads out. “ _He would greatly enjoy it if he could steal away an hour of your afternoon_.”

Rey clutches a hand at her chest.

He _really_ wants to see her again that badly? Enough to send a _butler_ down with a message- _twice_?

“Oh, Zizi! You _must_ go! That man is a real snatch! And rich out of his mind!”

“Uhhh…” the poor, forgotten instructor says, “I’m still here.”

“He must remember me from the benefit dinner back in Paris last year! Oh _god,_ I knew we had a connection back then. You don’t forget a man like _Benjamin Solo.”_

“ _Hello?_ ” the man says again.

The friend scoffs at him. “You can leave, Terry. We have better things to do right now. We’ll pay for the whole hour.”

The man with dreads just shrugs and dismounts from his bike, walking past Finn and right out the door.

“Could I give him a response, Ms. Netal?”

Bazine perks up again. “Oh yes! Tell Mr. Solo yes! I’ll be there 2 pm _sharp._ ”

Finn just nods and turns on his heel, leaving Rey alone with two squealing, rich women. They didn’t even _question_ the invitation, that’s just how stupid they are.

Then again, they may be the dumb bimbos but Rey is the one standing here, hiding and donning the maid uniform.

Benjamin Solo is going to be getting the shock of his life tomorrow afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on the [bird hell site](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta) for upcoming previews and visuals. Also I post other dumb shit. 
> 
> Swear jar is inspired by the eight year old I nanny who has one.  
> I have the mouth of a truck driver. 
> 
> The kid bought a PS4 last Christmas.


	8. eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired but here's a chapter.
> 
> enjjjoooyyy  
> DCB

The hotel quiets down on Monday. Tourists leave, fortune 500 CEO’s going back to work and rich heiresses go out for their daily shopping sprees.

Temiri wanted to walk by himself from the bus stop to the school and Rey let him; he’s technically old enough to get himself to school each and every day but Rey savors any minute she can get with him.

So, she’s at work a bit early, before a majority of the maids, including Rose and Jannah, alone in the locker room. Rey buttons up her plain uniform, ties her white Keds and wraps her chestnut hair into the hotel standard bun.

“Ms. Solana? Are you back here?” a woman’s voice calls from beyond the row of lockers. “Rey Solana?”

It’s Ms. D’Acy.

Rey pulls a little _too_ hard at her apron ties and gags when she tries to respond. “Uhh- y-yes! I’m here!”

The short blonde woman rounds the locker, a clipboard in her hand. “I thought I saw you arrive early this morning. Mr. Wexley would like to see you in his office.”

Her heart drops.

They figured it out.

_Somehow,_ either because of the security footage, or maybe Bazine finding a stain on the dress, Rey’s escapade has been noticed. And Wexley is bringing her in to fire her.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She follows Ms. D’Acy up the backend stairs to the office of _Coruscant Astaria’_ s manager, fingers pulling at the cotton of her apron. D’ Acy ushers her in and closes the door.

This is it.

Rey is going to be homeless after this.

“Ms. Solana, do you have any idea why I’ve called you in this morning?” Mr. Wexley asks.

Rey can’t look at him. Her eyes are trained only on the forest green carpet.

“Yes, I think so, Sir,” she manages to croak out.

A few papers shuffle and Ms. D’Acy joins him at the side of the desk, Rey taking a chance and peering up to them.

“Do you know what makes a hotel successful, Ms. Solana?”

_Bringing in guests with money nearly bulging out of their pockets ought to do the trick._

“The…location?”

Mr. Wexley chuckles a little. He’s in a good mood for someone who’s about to end a poor woman’s life.

“The location _does_ help, in more ways than one…but I was thinking a little bit more _intimate._ ”

Oh god, here it comes.

“The people, in particular the _staff,_ are what makes a hotel successful, Ms. Solana.”

Rey is going to vomit for sure and then they’ll charge her for the cleani-

“Which is why you have been accepted for the position of Assistant Manager here at the _Coruscant Astaria._ ”

Rey blinks once, then twice, until her eyelids are trying to keep up with the flashing lights in her brain.

_What?_

“Huh?” she dumbly spouts, her head still numb.

“We had no idea you were interested in management, Rey,” Ms. D’Acy softly says, “But after we received your application and reviewed your annual evaluations, we’ve decided to offer you the role as Assistant Manager.”

_When did I submit an application?_ Rey’s jaw is dropped open. _Have I really not been getting enough sleep?_

Mr. Wexley clears his throat. “You can start training today, if you’d like, but you’ll have to shadow one of the lead butlers for two weeks.”

“That’s, um, I d-don’t know-“

“It’s alright, Ms. Solana!” D’Acy says, “you don’t have to accept right now. We already have all your info into the system, minus your social security number, but it’s on file somewhere.”

Wait. 

If they’ve already okay’d Rey’s history, personal info and information that means…

They won’t snoop.

No one will find out about Temiri.

A sudden weight lifts from her shoulders. “I would _love_ to accept the position, Ms. D’Acy, Mr. Wexley.”

Rey can already see their new, two-bedroom apartment thirty blocks away from their current shithole, a laptop that doesn’t shut down every hour and the smile that Temiri will give her when she tells him he can go to the middle school twice a week for the advanced program.

“That’s wonderful! We’re glad to hear it. You are the youngest person in _Coruscant_ ’s history to ever be in a managerial position, Ms. Solana,” Mr. Wexley tells her with a grin. “You should be very proud.”

“Y-yes, _thank_ you,” Rey stutters, “This is incredible. Can I start training today?”

The two lead managers hum in approval. “Of course. We’ll assign you the butler you’ll shadow this afternoon, starting with the lunch shift,” Ms. D’Acy explains. “Just complete your usual tasks this morning.”

Maybe Rey’s luck _is_ picking up. She thought her ass was about to be fired, not promoted.

“Okay. Got it.” Rey can’t hide her smile. She goes up and shakes her supervisor’s hands with an iron grip.

“I won’t let you guys down.”

It’s not for another _hour,_ after cleaning and dressing the rooms in an absolute frenzy, that a thought pops into Rey’s head.

_Who submitted my application?_

***

Ben Solo sits nervously at his suite’s desk, fingers drumming on the solid surface.

Hux is out doing god knows what with Senator Quinn and Rivera, and Mitaka is representing Ben at a local press conference in Brooklyn, so the Senator sits alone in the massive room, sweating through his Burberry suit.

He looks over to the glass window’s reflection and is shown a man who looks stuffy and constipated, hunched strangely over the desk and unable to relax. It’s _not_ a good look.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles, unbuttoning the jacket and feeling the cool rush of air hit his straining dress shirt. Ben doubts Bazine will be overly dressed like him, so why bother? He’ll end up looking like more a fool than he already has.

Ben hasn’t done a single search of her name. He almost finds it rude, unlike Hux, who probably already knows her birthplace, star sign and first boyfriend. The man can’t help but sneak around.

Maybe she’ll bring Temiri with her. Or not. Either is fine. He doesn’t plan on the lunch being necessarily _romantic,_ not like Ben is any good at that (obviously) but more like a luncheon. A meeting. Yes, Ben can do _meetings_ and _luncheons_. Not dates.

They’ll talk the logistics of this Friday. Times, names and all that.

He brings his watch up to the sunlight.

Only thirty minutes until she arrives.

***

Rey finally receives a comm at 1:30 from D’Acy

“ _Please report to the first-floor floral department_ ,” Ms. D’Acy says through the staticky comm, “ _You’ll be shadowing Finn Tempête for at least today. He will either become your permanent supervisor for the next two weeks, or another with a more available schedule.”_

Rey chokes on her spit.

“Finn is the lead butler for t-the-“

“ _The Penthouse, suit, yes. We need a bouquet transported up for a two o’clock lunch he’s serving. He’ll run through the guidelines when you prep_.”

Rey swallows and brings the comm back up to her lips. 

“I’m on i-it, Ma’am.”

***

A knock sounds at the door down the hall, and in a panic, Ben checks his Rolex. It’s only 1:45. Bazine is early.

“Butler service, Mr. Solo!”

Oh. So, it’s _not_ Bazine. Just the room service here to set up lunch. Ben breathes out a sigh of relief. “Come in!” he shouts.

***

Finn opens the Penthouse suite’s door and Rey trails, holding the centerpiece bouquet high up, so the abundance of floral covers her head and neck. She follows Finn’s black leather shoes all the way to the kitchen, rotating the bouquet so her face is never exposed to Mr. Solo.

How the hell is she going to do this for _an entire hour._

Luckily, Ben is distracted with something in the office, staring down at his laptop when Rey peeks a small glance. She’ll try her best to be on the west side of the dining room, in hopes that she will be out of his line of vision.

“Make sure the salad fork is directly parallel with dinner fork, Rey.”

Finn is setting up the wine and water glasses, dutifully watching Rey as she starts her first, horrifying day of training. If she would’ve known that training started in the Penthouse suite today, Rey would’ve asked for a day’s extension.

But she didn’t. So now Rey is going to be physically hiding from a man who will instantly recognize her the minute he glances her face.

And if _that_ happens, Rey can say _buh-bye_ to her promotion, her training and even her _job._

Maybe she can just hide out in the kitchen and offer to do Finn’s laundry for the next month.

Then the door knocks. It’s 2 o’clock. 

***

Ben shoots up and out of his seat, breaking the tense staring at his laptop screen. The room service is almost done when he bypasses the dining room and gives a quick look. The door knocks again, and louder this time, as Ben wipes the sweat off his hands onto his suit pants. He takes a breath, grips the door handle and pulls.

“Ms. Netal, it’s wonderful to see y-“

Ben freezes.

The woman on the other side is _not_ Bazine Netal.

Bazine isn’t tall. Her hair isn’t pitch black. And Bazine does _not_ wear fourteen hundred-dollar Gucci sunglasses indoors.

“Hello, Benjamin!” she enters the suite in loud, stiletto heels, clacking up to Ben and pressing a chaste peck on either cheek. “It’s been a minute. How are you?”

“Uhh-you’re-“ Ben has no idea what to say. “ _Ms. Netal?_ ”

“Bazine is fine. You don’t have to be so formal with me Mr. Senator,” she says with a wink over the sunglasses.

Ben just gapes at her, taking a second look out the door for the _real_ Bazine Netal.

Who is _this_ woman?

He closes the door, brain scrambles and not comprehending the situation.

“I know we haven’t chatted since the _Monroe_ charity ball last summer, but I’m so glad you reached out to me.”

Ben walks further and further into the living area, where the fake Bazine is admiring the suite’s lavish decorations. “You’re staying at-at the Park suite, correct?”

She takes off her sunglasses and places the tip into the corner of her mouth, dark eyes roaming over Ben’s hulking body. “That’s correct, Benjamin.”

“Mr. Solo is fine,” he frowns and corrects. Strangers call him Mr. Solo.

She thankfully stops her ravaging for a moment to look past him and to the dining table.

“Lunch for two! How _romantic._ I hope the menu is vegetarian and gluten-free. Daddy says if I don’t eat right, I’ll end up as fat as my sister!”

Bazine cackles at what she thinks is the joke of the century, meanwhile Ben is definitely sweating through his dress shirt.

“Uh, _Bazine_ ,” he says right above a whisper, “why don’t you take seat really quick? I just have to make sure the Chef brought food adequate enough for your… _diet.”_

“Sounds good, Benny,” she lulls, poking a manicured finger at his chest. Ben wants to puke.

He rushes past the dining room over to the kitchen’s counter, where the butler and maid are facing away from him, preparing the food and drinks. “Finn?”

The butler turns around, a bottle of champagne in his gloved hands. “Yes, Mr. Solo?”

“ _Who the hell is that_?” Ben grits out, trying to stay calm.

Finn looks over his shoulder to the woman sitting cross legged on the couch, scrolling on her iPhone.

His brows furrow. “Uhh…that’s Ms. Bazine Netal from the Park suite. I hand delivered her the invitation yesterday, sir.”

***

Rey stands back facing to Ben and Finn, pretending to clean a wine glass.

She is listening to every single word of their not-very-whispered conversation. She's also not breathing. At all.

Finn is obviously as confused as Ben is.

“I hand delivered her the invitation yesterday, sir,” she hears him try to explain.

Ben then _growls,_ not at Finn or her, but at the situation. Rey knew he was going to be confused, but not _angry._

“That’s not her. Bazine is five six, brown hair and eyes...'

_Oh fuck._

"...and has a son named Temiri.”

_FUCK FUCK FUCK_

He just _had_ to mention Temiri by name, didn't he?

Rey can already hear the alarms blare in Finn’s head. She doesn’t dare look to the left of the counter.

“I’ll make sure to inform the manager, sir,” Finn says with steadiness, “We’ll be sure to locate the Bazine that you know.”

Ben just huffs. “Alright, thank you. And about the lunch…”

“Benny!” Bazine calls from the couch.

Her voice really is the worse.

He finally leaves the kitchen and walks to the living room, muttering something to the woman in a low, grumbly voice. Nothing like the tone he used with her.

Then Finn looks at her. There’s a bit of anger on his face.

“You’re excused for this lunch, Rey. I’ll chat with you tonight. After you pick up T from school.”

Rey takes a generous breath of nervous air, letting it exhale in a sigh. She’s never going to hear the end of it now; now that Finn knows too much, but Rey is confident he’ll be on her side.

She hopes.

Rey makes a hasty exit, ensuring her back is to the living room, but it doesn’t matter because Bazine, for some weird reason, pipes out, “Oh! It’s you Rachel!”

She stops, just a few steps away from the door.

“Could you pick up my dry cleaning today? I’ll need it for tonight.”

Rey nods, never turning around.

“Alright, thank y-“

Rey is out the door before Bazine finishes her sentence.

***

Bazine huffs at the maid’s short and sudden exit. “Strange girl. Excellent maid, but _definitely_ not normal.

Ben is still gaping at whoever this woman is. He sort of recognizes her from the benefit but _barley._

Lunch is quickly clattered onto the table and champagne is poured. Ben doesn’t bother pulling the chair out for Bazine.

“Oh, this is a _ciabatta_ roll, Benny. I thought I said no gluten?”

Finn then grabs the bread off the side plate and tosses it nonchalantly into the trash.

“A-alright,” Bazine looks offended. “Thanks, I guess.”

Ben doesn’t engage in any further conversation with her, so he lets her annoyingly rattle about god knows what. He tunes her out in the first ten seconds.

“…and daddy said the vineyard tour was supposed to be _extended_ for another week! Isn’t that hilarious?”

Ben looks up from his plate of organic salad and nods weekly.

“Anyways, our house in Marsille is going under renovations anyways, so I’ll be- oh!”

Bazine grabs something next to her plate, suddenly noticing it.

It’s the invitation to the Mayor’s Ball.

“Is this…for this Friday? Oh, Benny! I’d _love_ to go!”

Ben totally forgot about the small piece of card stock. _Completely_ forgot.

She’s picked it up now, eyes scanning the details and four-course menu, all things the _real_ Bazine was supposed to be doing right now.

“That’s-I didn’t mean- _uhhh-“_

It’s Finn who comes over and snatches the invitation from the woman’s grasp.

Bazine makes a sound of utter disbelief. “The _absolute_ gall of a servant, how _dare-“_

“This is Mr. Solo’s invitation, Ma’am. It was meant to be on _his_ place setting. Not yours. My apologies.”

“ _Apologies_ my ass. Benjamin, fire this man immediately!”

The two men make eye contact and sigh in sync.

“Mr. Têmpete is actually correct.” Ben extends a hand forward. “I was wondering what had happened to it.”

The butler places the card into his hand, grinning out of Bazine’s view.

Ben makes a mental note to tip Finn three hundred dollars after this dumpster fire of a date.

***

The fake Bazine talks for _two, entire. fucking. hours._

Ben needs a beer. Or an entire joint. Literally anything to relieve the headache that pressures his frontal lobe.

He meets Hux in the town car outside the lobby, clambering into the enclosed space with a sigh. He has a speech today in the Bronx, discussing housing projects that he's funding.

Hux sits in the leather seat next to him, his laptop out and furiously typing away at something. 

"How did the date go? Did she say yes?"

Ben just _glares_ at his manager. 

"W-what?" 

" _That_ was not the Bazine I met. I have no fucking clue who I just spent two _insanely_ grueling hours with."

Hux is apparently just as confused as Ben. The car takes off towards uptown. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about Solo. I doubt the butler service would have gotten an entire _suite_ mixed up."

Ben muses at his hair, angry and lost. 

The woman he met in the Park suite said her name was Bazine Netal. She was _in_ the Park suite. Her name was Bazine. 

Did he remember something incorrectly? Was she even _real?_

"The butler is going to ask later, but I need to know if she's coming this Friday, if we'r-"

Ben is suddenly cut off when the town car passes a _very_ real woman holding the hand of a _real_ boy wearing a neon green backpack. They are crossing the street, heads down and talking to each other. 

"Stop the car!" he shouts, scaring Hux and the poor driver. "Pull over!"

"What the _hell_ is going on?"

The car rounds to the side walk and Ben all but scrambles out of his seat, landing comedically in front of them both. 

" _Ben?_ " 

"Ms. Netal! Temiri! The strangest thing happened today-"

He's cut off as he looks her up and down, surprised by how informal her dress is. Her parka looks like it's from a discount store and her jeans are ripped and worn. They're nothing like the extremely lavish garments she wore when they first met. 

But she's still just as beautiful nonetheless. 

"Ben, this really isn't the time, or place-"

"Hi, Mr. Solo!" Temiri chirps in anyways. 

He smiles at them, Temiri glowing back, but Bazine's face fallen like she's just witnessed a murder. 

"I invited you for lunch this afternoon, in my suite. And well, the _weirdest_ thing happened. This woman who _claimed_ to be you showed up, with the same name and everything."

Bazine just stands there, worry in her eyes, and not a single word leaving her mouth. 

Hux finally gets out of the car and joins them, once overing the woman. "Who's this?"

She doesn't respond. Neither does Temiri. 

" _Well?_ You've got a name, right?"

"I h-have to-" she stutters, grabbing at her son's hand insistently. "We're late. We need to go."

They try to run off again, but Ben blocks them on the sidewalk in one easy stride. 

"There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?'

He looks down into her hazel eyes, desperately trying to read what her flickering irises are attempting to tell him. She looks scared. Ben doesn't understand why. 

Is he truly _that_ terrifying? 

"Mr. Solo. Please move out of the way."

He doesn't budge. Hux stands awkwardly next to the town car, watching this all happen.

"I'm not leaving until you give me your number."

" _Excuse me?_ " Her eyes squint up at him. "Do you even _hear_ yourself, Mr. Senator? Do you think you can just stomp in front of anyone and interrogate them until they'll give up?"

Ben is really doing this whole thing wrong. Shit like this works with politicians; _not_ people you're pathetically trying to pick up.

"O-okay, I'm sorry, really." Ben fishes a last resort out of his pocket. "If you won't give me your number, please take my personal one."

Bazine looks at the card with fire in her expression. This is the toughest time Ben has _ever_ had trying to get a phone number. 

But all she does is turn her nose at him, grab Temiri at the shoulders and sigh.

"Have a nice day, Mr. Solo."

They brush past him when he eases his position, but not without Temiri quickly turning at the last minute and grabbing the card, unbeknownst to his mother. 

The boy winks at him and it's the only assurance Ben has that they'll all meet again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i know, but Rey is not only angry at herself but also worried out of her mind. I would be just as bitchy, if not worse tbh. 
> 
> Ben is trying but my god does he need to learn some real social skills.


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Muwhahaha. 
> 
> I've been stupidly busy with my art and other stories so sorry for late update! I'm trying to get more chapters out soon. 
> 
> Funnily enough, my mom is reading this story and didn't realize it was a WIP. She called me when she finished chapter 8 and demanded the next one. My reply? 
> 
> "Yea, you and the like 200 subscribers want the next chapter too, lol."
> 
> ...
> 
> I got in so much trouble for back talking. I am a grown ass woman. 
> 
> But anyways, hi mom. Hope you and everyone else enjoys this chapter!
> 
> DCB

They sit together on the couch Rey found for ten dollars at goodwill, watching the newest and trashiest episode of _Floribama Shore._

The lights of the show flash throughout their tiny and darkened apartment, no other lights on except the dim kitchen bulb.

Well, _Temiri_ is certainly watching.

But Rey?

Not so much.

Her eyes keep flickering down to her phone every other minute or so and she doesn’t laugh along with Temiri as he watches Codi go nearly ballistic on the other house members, every other word spoken censoring loudly on the TV.

They’re cuddled up in Temiri’s favorite spot: Rey in the corner of the sofa, legs up and wrapped around him as he rests his head on her chest, leaning on her lithe figure for support.

It’s times like these that really make Temiri happy.

Like his life is normal for once.

The show switches to a commercial break and Rey closes her eyes, trying to ignore her phone. She had told him earlier when they got home that Rey was expecting a call from Finn and has been nervously glued to her phone since then. Five hours later, there’s still no call, and Rey was so physically upset after school that Temiri knows she needs to sleep.

So, while Rey keeps her eyes closed and head leaned back, Temiri quietly grabs her unlocked phone and does a couple things.

First, he pulls out the tiny business card that he tucked away in his jeans pocket and _very_ quickly inputs one name and one number.

Then Temiri silences the phone, locks it and replaces it to its resting place upon her balanced knee before she even slightly stirs.

Rey stays asleep for the rest of the _Floribama Shore_ episode.

Temiri is trying to keep his eyes open too, the hour being far past bedtime. But he doesn’t want to get up and go to bed if Rey won’t come with him.

Her phone lights up right as a re-run of _Ridiculousness_ begins to play and Temiri snatches it before the slight buzzing could wake her.

_FINN TEMPÊTE_

_I’m at door, not ringing in case T is asleep_

Temiri giggles a bit at the irony, since it’s actually _Rey_ who succumbed to her exhaustion and not him.

He carefully untucks himself from their tangle of limbs and creeps down the hall and to the front door, standing on his tippy toes and peering out the peep hole. Finn stands there, looking down at his phone and awaiting Rey’s nonexistent reply.

He’s not supposed to open the front door. But it’s Finn. Temiri will surely be forgiven if he gets in trouble, right?

The door creaks open and Temiri sticks his head out the opening, Finn’s eyes suddenly widening at the sight of him and _not_ the adult he was expecting.

“T? What are you doing up so late? Where’s Rey?”

The boy brings a finger up to his lips. “Shh. She’s sleeping. I saw that you texted her.”

“Ah.” Finn pockets his cellphone and shivers a bit. “She didn’t know I was coming over so maybe I should just go home-“

“Wait!” Temiri suddenly cries.

There is a big reason Finn would come all the way over here just to talk with Rey about something. Something important. Probably about Mr. Solo. Or her job. Or worse- _losing_ her job.

Panic suddenly strikes him like a lightning bolt. 

“Is Rey in trouble? Like, at the hotel?”

Finn realizes what Temiri is asking about and his face falls in sympathy.

“Not yet, T. But she could be. If she’s not careful.”

That is the last thing Temiri can bear to see. Rey in trouble.

He knows they could lose _everything_ if Rey loses her job. It scares Rey more than it does him, but imaging Rey so heartbroken and desperate makes Temiri want to scream and cry and do everything a regular child is allowed to do.

“B-but she was just playing dress up, that’s it!” his voice grows a little _too_ loud, the sound unknowingly echoing back through the apartment.

“Temiri, I understand but-“

“Doesn’t Rey get to do fun things? Why does she have to work so much? Rey just wanted a _day,_ that’s it.”

“Tem-“

He’s tearing up now. And it’s sorta embarrassing.

“And it’s all my fault. _I_ was the one who brought Mr. Solo up to the room. _I_ asked to go feed the ducks. And it was _me_ who kept calling her _mom_ -“

“What’s going on here?” a voice suddenly sounds from behind the doorframe.

Apparently, the boys chatter woke the dead asleep Rey.

“Rey! Sorry, I meant to call-“ Finn quickly stutters, “but I thought it was better if we talked in person.”

The guilt begins to wash over Temiri as he looks up to Rey’s concerned and anxious face.

She’s in trouble because of _him._

Finn is going to yell at her, _because of him._

Temiri has been a burden since he showed up, hasn’t he? Nothing but trouble.

The poor boy starts to cry real tears now, Rey and Finn suddenly thrown by his immediate reaction.

Rey bends down and grabs his wet cheeks as he cries down to their tile floor, trying to wipe them as fast as they drip.

“Baby? What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

He just sniffles a bit, rubs his eyes, then takes off to the bedroom, leaving the adults to the adult world.

He can’t say anything right now.

Rey was already kind enough to let him live here in the most _dangerous_ situation possible.

Temiri just needs to sit and cry. And _not_ in front of the strongest person he’s ever loved.

Rey knocks lightly at their bedroom door.

“Temiri, baby, are you okay? What did you talk to Finn about?”

He flops on the bed and turns his head to the door.

He just needs to be sad and dramatic.

Just for right now.

“I-I’m okay. Just let me be alone. For a little bit.”

Rey sighs beyond the boundaries of the room. Temiri doesn’t get emotional very often but when he does it’s basically the equivalent of that one scene in _Land Before Time_ that makes him sob every time they sit through it _._

“Let me know when I can come in, alright?”

Temiri says nothing, his eyes heavy from tears and exhaustion.

“Okay,” he finally pipes out.

And then he knocks out less than three minutes later.

***

Rey stands at the precipice of their shared bedroom door, head bowed down and Finn still waiting at the open door. She doesn’t remember falling asleep but was sure as hell surprised to find Temiri talking with _Finn_ so randomly late at night.

“Come on in, Finn.” She says, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing the coffee pot. “I was excepting a phone call for a while. Didn’t think you would trek all the way over here.”

She begins to fill the glass pot full of water as Finn enters the kitchen and takes a quiet seat at their tiny dining table.

“Sorry. I tried to give a heads up but forgot to text earlier. Is he going to be okay?”

She turns her head to the door, then back to Finn.

“He’s fine. Just needs a little time to himself. And some much-needed rest.”

“Oh. Alright.”

The silence between the two of them is abating.

Finn is one of her best friends. Their relationship is far beyond just simple coworkers.

So, this conversation is going to _fucking suck._

“Let me just begin, okay?” Rey whispers. She knows Temiri can sleep through enough and judging by his light snoring, he’s already out cold.

The coffee machine rumbles and boil, the smell of Italian roast drifting through the apartment.

“I made…a mistake. I can admit that. I broke protocol and almost every rule in the handbook.”

Finn sits there, hands folded together on the table.

“I’m not blaming Temiri in the slightest, though I know he’s blaming himself.” She nods to the bedroom. “Hence, the sudden tears.”

The pot finishes and Rey pours two full mugs, setting them down and joining him at the table.

“Even though I did so much wrong, I don’t regret it.”

_That_ makes Finn quirk a brow and then open his mouth to speak.

“ _But_ -“ Rey cuts him off before another word is spoken, “I place mine and Temiri’s welfare and lives above everything. And I think you know that.”

She takes a breath. Seeing Ben again this afternoon was the _icing_ of this stupid, rich and over-indulgent cake she’s taken far too big of a bite of.

And Rey is now choking. 

“…can I talk now?” He asks, still a little hesitant.

“Yes. Thanks for listening to me, Finn.”

He nods, taking a sip of hot coffee before beginning.

“To say I’m shocked would be an absolute understatement. Pretending to be a _guest_? And a real one? I’d say you have bigger balls than me.”

Rey snorts at him, the mood instantly lifting, thankfully.

“But obviously, a few problems come along with doing that. Like your… _date_ thinking you’re someone that you’re not. And creating a headache of a mix-up.”

“Yea. I felt pretty bad about that. I’m sorry if he or his assistant yelled at you or anything.”

Finn sighs, taking another sip. “They haven’t... _yet._ But I have a feeling I’ll be chatting with one or both of them tomorrow. Which is the reason why I’m here.”

Rey has barely touched her coffee. She has too many nerves in her stomach already to be adding to the jitteriness.

“And that reason is…?”

“An ultimatum. I overheard what Mr. Solo and his manager were talking about when they returned during dinner.”

Rey takes in a gulp.

“Wh-what were they talking about? Did they figure it out?”

Rey can never show her face at the _Coruscant Astaria,_ much less keep a _job_ there if Ben realized he’s been duped and then reports her.

But for some reason, Rey knows he would never actually do anything like that.

“No. They just don’t know who you are. They think you’re a guest…in another room. And Mr. Solo is refusing to cooperate with his manager unless he finds the _real_ Bazine Netal, aka _you._ ”

Finn yawns even though he’ drained most of his mug. He works extremely long and difficult days and Rey can't blame him.

“I am going to inform them that I know how who are-“

Rey gags. “ _What-?_ ”

“- _but,_ I won’t reveal anything, Don’t worry. I’ll just tell them that you will show up this Friday.”

He reaches into his inner jacket pocket and produces a small, six-inch piece of card stock with gold lettering and leaf details around the borders. It lands softly in front of Rey, even though the weight of it is heavier than anything in this apartment.

“You’re going to meet Benjamin Solo at the Mayor's Ball this Friday, tell him your guys’ _thing_ is over, and you’re going to keep your job. They’ll check out and you’ll be promoted.”

It is a simple exchange, isn’t it?

This was never supposed to be anything more than it ever was.

Rey can’t live anymore lies.

“Okay.”

She grabs the invitation and holds the gold lettering to the light, letting the flakes reflect onto the ceiling.

“It’s for the best, Rey. You know how much we love you and T. If anything happened to you two or your job, it would make us sick.”

And _there’s_ the fear that is stopping Rey from over-indulging in any thoughts pertaining to (1) Ben Solo.

Even though he’s now _constantly_ on her mind, his deep voice looping like a broken record, Rey is an adult. Who is literally raising another human.

Now is not the time to run off and play make believe like a princess.

She’s just a maid anyways.

“Thanks, Finn. You mean the world to me and I hope you know that.”

He smiles fondly at her, years of friendship glowing through his grin.

“You’re like sunshine, Rey. Always shining bright through anything life throws at you. Don’t let something this silly dim you out.”

It’s nearly 11 pm when they finally exchange goodbyes, hugging at her front door while Finn waited for his Lyft. She sends him back with some herbal teas for Poe, to help with his pain med nausea, and promises to see him at work tomorrow.

Rey may be like the sun, but right now? She is the moon.

Silent. Quiet. And awaiting a sunny day that she’ll never be privy to.

***

Temiri doesn’t want to talk the next morning. No matter how much Rey coaxes him, offers him extra TV time or a trip to his favorite bakery of the corner of 79th street, he won’t tell her what _exactly_ made him so upset last night.

And that’s just the start of her stressful Tuesday.

Rey gets in late and can't say hi to Rose, who already began her shift. Even though she is really the _only_ person in the world who understands the sticky situation Rey has managed to get herself into.

She’s transferred to another butler. His name is James. He is fine, but he’s not Finn.

So, it’s no surprise Rey cracks on her lunch break.

Rose finds her in the corner of the bathroom, sitting and hunched against the cream tiles, the smoke detector above her completely disabled.

Rey has three cigarettes total, and they’re all emergency cigarettes. She keeps one in her wallet, one in her nightstand at home and one in a salsa jar above the refrigerator.

She went through a horrible drug period of her life in late high school while under the care of Plutt but cleaned up the second Temiri came to live with her.

She was not going to become her parents.

Smoking is disgusting. She’s always thought it was. But right now, Rey needs to smoke an emergency cigarette.

The bathroom is a little hazy as Rose coughs.

“Rey? What the hell are you doing in here?” She swats at the air. “It smells like a casino in here.”

She takes a puff. The burn is almost to the filter.

“I just…needed a minute.”

And some nicotine, apparently.

“Rey…”

Rose walks to her corner and bends down, plucking the cigarette from Rey’s laxed fingers. She doesn’t budge. Or resist.

“Alright, you’re actually scaring me now. What is going on? Is this about the promotion?”

Rey’s eyes snap up to meet Rose’s with an epiphany finally hitting her.

She never told Rose about the promotion.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Rey barley whispers.

And Rose knows she’s been caught. Her entire face blanches and her jaw drops open as she incoherently stutters.

“It w-was just that _you-_ “

“Rose,” her friends cuts off, “I’m not mad. I just don’t- I don’t understand.”

Her friend looks down in guilt, then crawls down with Rey and joins her in the corner. The bathroom floor really is disgusting but neither of them care.

“When I asked you on Saturday if you’d applied, and you’d told me yes, I asked Kelly in HR about your chances for the position.”

Rose extinguishes the cigarette on the ground and flicks it into the nearby trash.

“Imagine my surprise when Kelly told me that she _never_ received an application from you? She didn’t even know you were interested. And I know you never _actually_ said you were, but I know you’ve been looking to get out of that uniform for too many years now.”

She’s 100% right. And Rey never would have had the guts to actually apply. It took her _best friend_ going behind her back to finally do it.

“You deserve that position, Rey. More than anyone here. And I knew you got it when I asked Kelly again yesterday while you were off training during lunch.”

Ah.

Yesterday’s lunch.

_That_ thought resurfaces an entire myriad of stress she’s been trying to avoid, aside from literally everything else.

“About yesterday…”

Rey gulps, prepared to tell Rose the ultimatum Finn gave her that she unfortunately _has_ to accept.

“I’m going to that Mayor’s thing this Friday to see Ben.”

Rose perks up, her hands clasping in excitement.

“That’s wonderful! Did you see him again? Did he ask you out?”

“Uh…”

Well, Ben asked _Bazine_ to go. Not Rey. But she guesses it counts.

“He did. But he asked through Finn because the _real_ Bazine Netal was first invited. And I’m only going to end everything.”

Rey tries to say it as flatly as possible, but Rose doesn’t miss the slight crack in her voice.

“Rey. You sound miserable right now. Like that’s the _last_ thing you want to do. And I’m not talking about going to that event.”

She scoffs.

“That’s just stupid, Rose. I’ve only seen him like, _twice._ And we talked for a total of forty minutes max. I doubt he’s as weirdly infatuated with me as I seemingly am with him. It’s just because he’s hot, or whatever.”

It’s a total lie. But maybe if Rey says it enough, it’ll come true.

“He’s just a handsome, mean man with lots of money. Of course, I’m attracted to him.”

…right?

It has nothing to do with how caring and understanding he was with Temiri, or the way he playfully accepted her straight insults, or the interesting dynamic of being such a hard-won man showing compassion to a supposedly single mother, frustrated and nervous with every word she spoke to him-

No. 

Not because of any of that. 

Like always, Rose sees directly through her best friend’s lies. But she doesn’t have the heart to call her out yet again.

She gets up, brushes the dirt off her butt and stands over Rey, letting her slight shadow overcast the young, tired and frankly, downright _miserable_ maid who sits alongside her cigarette ash.

“C’mon.” Rose extends a small hand out to her. “Let’s go eat something. And talk makeup looks.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it depends on what dress you’re wearing this Friday, but I’m thinking either a smoky eye or maybe just winged liner, deep red or burgundy lipstick? Ooo! Maybe Paige has something you could borrow.”

Rey finally smiles a little bit at the mention of makeup but is suddenly overtaken by _I haven’t dressed up since prom._

“Oh shit, what am I supposed to do, Rose? I can’t pretend to be all fancy again. It was already hard enough at the park. And those _heels_ were basically hell in a shoe form.”

Her friend laughs. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about? I thought you would be concerned that Ben would actually let you end things. I think he’s going to be even more stubborn than you.”

Rey didn’t even think of that.

Isn’t she just another pretty girl who he’s met in a nice place? Just like the _real_ Bazine? And anyone before that?

“I-I don’t know. But I have to. It’s the only way I’ll keep the promotion.”

Rey doesn’t have a choice anyways.

Rose grabs at her hand and pull her completely up. “Don’t worry about it right now. Just be excited! You get to go _out_ this Friday! And you can bet your ass I’ll be babysitting!”

“Really?” Rey brows arch in surprise. “You would do that for me?”

“Girl…” Rose just sighs. “That’s what friends are for! How many times do I have to reiterate this before it’s drilled into your gorgeously shaped head?”

The nicotine is already leaving her system, but Rey still feels good.

_Great,_ actually.

“Thank Rose. You’re the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue the early 2000's makeover montage music*


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We are almost to the ball!!! Sorry there's been so many transition chapters, it just that there's a lot of info that will be very important later that I have to establish now. 
> 
> Also...we have a chapter count update....and this probably wont be the last ughh....
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, and enjoy!
> 
> <3  
> DCB

For the first time ever in his adult life, Ben Solo sits down at a bar and doesn’t order a drink.

First of all, it’s only 9 am. He’s shocked the hotel’s bar is even open. The accompanying restaurant is currently serving brunch and while him and Hux are perfectly capable of sitting and eating along with the waves of drunk, middle aged, snobby socialites, there is literally no one on the barstools next to them.

They two men sit crouched over their laptops, orange juice and four plates of toast between them. Hux says his British habits from growing up in Birmingham still follow him in the form of excessive carbs for breakfast and Ben certainly isn’t complaining. He could practically eat a horse right now.

He hardly ate at yesterday’s…disaster. And then dinner was no better. Especially since the majority of it was just yelling at his manager.

And then followed by Ben forgiving said manager when he realized there was something _very_ wrong with everything that has happened.

This wasn’t just some mix-up. Based on the now multiple hours of research, Hux and the butler, Finn, have been proven correct. The Bazine that showed up yesterday _was_ the real one. Born in 1989 in Rochester, England, Heiress to the Papenworth Estate and an esteemed guest staying in the Park Suite at the _Coruscant Astaria_ , Bazine Netal is a real person.

Which then brings them to the question…

Who is this woman?

They looked up Bazine Netal’s family members and colleagues here in NY, or any possibly visiting due to the Mayor’s ball but none of them visually matched. And beside her one sister currently living in France, most of the influential Netal family members are male. And without children.

Ben has yet to search for Temiri’s full name. It almost feels like a breach of privacy.

He hasn’t told Hux that he knows his first _and_ last name. Or that it’s not _Netal_. But Ben knows the minute he lets his info-starved manager into the light, he’s not backing down.

So, Ben keeps him busy with some trivial upcoming campaigns ads, whatever the hell is happening on social media and some quiet contacts about changing his seat this Friday to one plate rather than two, despite Hux’s rabid protests.

“Hopefully the butler gets back to us today,” Hux sighs over the screen,” I know it’s only been one night, but hopefully his sources were faithful, and quick at it.”

Ben is aware that staff anywhere, whether that be at a hotel or bar or restaurant will eavesdrop, unintentionally or not. This is one of the few instances where an employee listening in has been an extremely good scenario.

“There’s still a chance she’s moved to another room. Or another hotel entirely.”

Ben looks up the other nearby 5-star hotels that they could have potentially gone to, but all have been booked for weeks now due to the major political events happening in Manhattan.

Someone in the brunch crowd squeals in delight and it reminds Ben oh so much of Temiri’s happy cries while feeding the ducks.

Temiri.

Maybe it would be safer if _Ben_ looked him up, rather than Hux.

With an enormous amount of hesitance and uneasiness, he types _Temiri Solana_ into the search bar, completely in the dark of what’s going to appear.

The first few results are random obituaries with misspellings, random housing address in New York and interestingly enough, a Facebook profile. The first name is not Temiri though, but rather someone named _Rey._

Curious, Ben clicks on the link and it opens to a user whose profile picture is an illustrated cat wearing a cowboy hat. Since it’s a private account, no info besides the town they live in, a birthdate and mutual friends are available.

The age looks a little too young at twenty-two, but maybe this is Temiri’s Dad? She _did_ say that he took his father’s name, but at this point, Ben doesn’t know _what_ to believe.

The information is not the most helpful, but it’s something. He clicks back to the main search page and keeps scrolling, watching for any photos or other identification.

But nothing else shows. Just junk at this point.

Ben drains the rest of his orange juice and scarfs down two entire pieces of toast. They both have a long, draught day ahead of them, meeting people with too much money and too little time. Just like every politician. Just like him.

He doesn’t say a single word to Hux about his find.

***

Rose takes two entire days off of work.

It’s not the first time she’s used her vacation hours; it just surprising how spontaneously she used them.

Rey has to keep herself entertained and not completely panicked Wednesday and Thursday, the thoughts of the ball and Ben and Temiri and _everything_ creating a mixing pot of anxiety. There’s still some things Rey wouldn’t be able to relinquish to her best friend, and Jannah is a fine substitute for the south end of the hallway, but she misses her snappy humor and butt pinches.

Her and Jannah are folding some towels downstairs, between the lunch and dinner hours, her fellow maid humming a sweet church hymn as they stack piles and piles of 100% Turkish cotton terrycloth.

“Have you heard at all from Rose the past two days?” Jannah finally asks, still humming.

“Not really." Rey shrugs. "She sent me a picture of a wall on Wednesday and asked if I liked the color, but nothing since then.”

Jannah laughs a little at that. “A wall? You guys just send each other random pictures of buildings? Man, I _adore_ your friendship.”

Rey does too. That’s why the last two days have been a physical drag to come to work. And Temiri is _still_ not talking.

“You know Rose. I once saw her drink Redbull from a woman’s cleavage at a bar last Christmas. And that was the _first_ time we’d gone drinking.”

The girls both bark out their laughs, the noise safely contained within the concrete walls of the laundry room.

“Maybe I’ll shoot her a text message and see what’s up,” Jannah says, pulling out her phone from her apron pocket and begins to type. “I doubt she’ll answer me thou-“

_Ding!_

Twin looks of shock both emit from the young maids, who both stare down at the surprising and sudden noise.

“Um…well…”

Jannah squints down at her phone, obviously focused on whatever the hell Rose has responded back to so frantically. Rey tries to round the folding table to peer over her shoulder, but Jannah quickly pulls her phone to her chest, hiding the content of the screen.

“Is everything okay?” Rey asks with genuine concern. It’s not like Rose or Jannah to be so…sneaky.

“Uh, yea!” She pipes out, “No worries. Nothing at all. Mm-nn. Nope.”

Rey sticks a hip out and crosses her arms. “I can tell when someone’s lying, Jannah. What’s she hiding from me? Let me guess, I wasn’t supposed to know she texted you back.”

And then her poor friend, who never stood a chance against Rey’s slight but powerful interrogation tactics, thankfully breaks.

“ _Fine._ Yes. You weren’t supposed to hear that. Or see that. Or know what I’m about to tell you, but there’s one thing I am supposed to do that I don’t understand.”

What in god’s name did Rose tell her?

“Rose says you’re not allowed to go shopping for tomorrow. And if I let you buy anything; my ass is grass.”

…buy?

No way.

Rose _couldn’t_ have.

But the two days off make sense know. The picture of the wall and its color. Rose needing an in to make sure she doesn’t make double for the ball.

If she’s right…

“Sounds like I need to head over to Rose’s place after work today,” Rey sighs, returning back to her pile of dried towels.

“Huh? Why?”

“I think…I have a fitting tonight.”

***

Through the plastic door of Rose’s apartment, Rey, Jannah and Temiri hear a maniacal laughter carry through the unit and out onto the street.

If Rey hadn’t already figured it out, then that would have confirmed it.

Rose is an amazing designer. She’s a wizard at a dress form or sewing machine. She’s saving up her ‘maid money’ (as she likes to call it), for her fashion degree, and she only has a few more years until there’s enough.

The laughter becomes a scream when Rey bangs loudly at the door, the pumpkin Halloween decoration Rose never bothered taking off shaking as she does so.

“Rose!” She shouts, “I know you’re in here! And I know what you’re doing!”

Silence then follows, replaced by hastened steps, then finally, the door swinging open, revealing Rose covered in loose thread, hair tied up in buns and an aroma of grilled cheese and coffee surrounding her.

“You-“ Her head whips to Jannah. Then a stubby finger points. “Wait no, _you_ are to blame!”

Jannah is, of course, offended. Because this absolutely isn’t her fault. This is just what happens when you try to surprise Rey.

Because _Rey_ doesn’t like surprises.

“Rose? What the hell is going on here?”

Rey and Jannah had both picked up Temiri at school today, her co-worker so curious about Rose’s creation. Her and Temiri get along splendidly even though he didn't talk on the ride over since Jannah has a car.

“Not in front of the yougin!” Rose cries out, taking poor Temiri by the head and covering his ears. “I already know you teach him bad words, Rey. Finn told me what he called Poe last time.”

“A douche-biscuit? That did _not_ come from me and from the sounds of it, Poe deserved it.”

Jannah finally puts an arm between every party currently arguing at the door, effectively cutting off the rather pointless and heated conversation. “Ladies! Can we just…go inside? I think the kid is acting the most mature right now.”

And that’s how all three guests end up sitting on Rose’s Ikea couch with take-out garbage, scraps of fabric and coffee mugs surrounding them.

Rose is pacing circles in front of them, her Juki sewing machine appearing just as exhausted as she is.

“Before you say anything,” she prefaces, “I didn’t mean to be sneaky. I just wanted to surprise you.”

While Rey _is_ excited for what she’s predicting, it still doesn’t quell the non-existent compensation Rey can't provide for fabric, sewing time, the fitting tonight, or anything else-

“Rey! I know you’re already thinking of how to pay me!” Rose barks out, shaking the peanut gallery on the couch.

Rey just groans and dumps her face into her hands. She doesn’t notice when Rose leaves the room. Or when a couple doors open and shut. Or when Temiri and Jannah start to tug on her sleeve.

“You might want to look up, Sissy…” Temiri whispers to Rey, the first words he's said since Tuesday, with a hint of shock in his voice.

And she soon discovers why.

Rey’s head slowly and steadily lifts from the resting place upon her palms to reveal an emerald green gown with a corseted bodice and lightweight fabric draping softly and elegantly down the entirety of the piece, like an emerald waterfall.

Words try to form but all Rey can do is _gawk._

“Holy _shit_ , Rose!” Jannah breathes out, saying what is exactly on Rey’s mind. “I didn’t know you could sew like _that_!”

“Me neither…” Temiri says, a grin wide on his cheeks.

Then the questions about the dress finally set it in.

Rose is proud of her work (as she should be) and gracefully places the hanger into Rey’s shaking hands. When she finally runs fingertips over the silky chiffon, it’s like grazing air.

“Rose…this is amazing…but how-“

The short woman stomps a foot and snatches the dress back. Then she commands Rey to stand up from her crouched position.

“Rey Solana, you do _not_ owe me a single cent for this. Tomorrow is _your_ night and you are going to wear this whether you like it not.”

Rey thinks back to her tiny closet in her apartment, the dress she _planned_ on wearing sitting in the back with a plastic Macy’s bag over it. Sure, it’s not the _most_ flattering shape or color, but it’s not from the Brooklyn goodwill center.

“But I already have-“

Rose groans, like she can’t believe they're fighting over a _dress_ out of all the things in the world.

“I took two days off and haven’t slept for 28 hours. You get _one_ fitting tonight. And I know that’s all you need. You are not wearing whatever you have stored in the depths your perilous apartment.”

Damn. It really _is_ hard to win an argument against Rose.

And poor, poor Jannah and Temiri just continue to sit there, nearly forgotten between the two hotheads.

Everyone just takes a few deep breaths and lets the energy of the room die down. This should be a happy moment. This is the first time _anyone_ has made _anything_ custom for Rey, since it’s been out of her budget her entire life.

Well, it still _is_ out of her budget, but she’ll find a different way to repay her.

“…How long will the fitting take? Temiri still hasn’t had dinner.”

The boy perks up at the mention of his name. “I can wait,” he says, hands folded in his lap and feet tapping on the carpet. “Try it on, Sissy. You deserve it.”

“Yea, go on, Rey! I want to see you in it!” Jannah adds.

Rose hands her back the hanger now with a smile and eyebrows raised as Rey finally accepts defeat, her decision to attend tomorrow _truly_ hitting her.

Rey hopes to god she’ll look good in green.

***

It's almost twilight when Armitage receives a phone call in the Penthouse suite, with just him and Mitaka filling the empty space. Solo is off to some dinner with his mother's friend and personally requested he go _alone,_ for whatever reason.

He picks up the golden-handled device and brings it to his ear, the ringing promptly ending. 

"Benjamin Solo's suite, how may I help you?"

"This is Finn Tempête, sir. Your suite's butler. I have the information you requested."

Bells chime in Hux's head, like all his prayers have been answered. 

Unless this phone call goes the opposite way. Which it won't. It shouldn't. Armitage has _everything_ in control, like always. 

"And?"

Finn sighs heavily through the line. "She will be there. My only request is that she is treated with a high level of respect for the entire duration of the party and _not_ questioned about her identity. By anyone."

Those are easy enough requests. Hux _is_ a political manager, after all. "Fine by me. The Senator will happy to know and will carry through with your summons."

"He better," the butler says, a bit out of line, "or else there will be hell to answer to."

Hux gulps, suddenly nervous. He's _never_ had a hospitality worker, much less a _butler_ speak to him in such a manner. 

This entire fiasco is turning into a rather compelling mystery. 

"Um..." the red head whimpers. "I'll...make sure to let him know."

"Good."

The phone goes crashing down on the other end, and Armitage is met with the sound of a dial tone.

Who the hell _is_ this woman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to design a dress ehehehehe


	11. eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Hello my lovelies!!! We are FINALLY to the ball scene!!! This was super tough to write but I had a lot of fun doing so. It's based heavily on the movie's ball, so some of the locations + dialouge are similar. 
> 
> Here are the visuals for this chapter:
> 
> [The Met](https://www.nycgo.com/images/articles/21021/metropolitan-museum-ues-manhattan-nyc-brittany-petronella_x9a7045-sat__large.jpg)
> 
> [Poe's Car](https://bringatrailer.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/5adfcf3033b5e_1524183209ba4edIMG_0195.jpg?fit=940%2C678) (i frickin love Miatas)
> 
> [Rey's gown](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta/status/1312133282750885888) (drawn by me!)
> 
> [Bazine's Gown](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/62/0e/b2/620eb246a5fc2700a99a150039772b45.jpg)
> 
> Thank you all for still following! I'm trying to post chapters faster since I want to wrap up this story.  
> SUPER-SUPER-AMAZING THANKS TO MY NEW BETA [Bee](https://twitter.com/justsunshinerey)! She is an absolute DOLL and one of the sweetest humans I've ever had the pleasure of being friends with. You can thank her for this update being as high-quality as it is. She is a literal miracle worker!
> 
> Enjoy!  
> DCB

_ 1 unread message from Armitage Hux _

She’ll be there

_ Sent Thursday, 10:41 pm _

***

When Ben was seventeen, he asked the prettiest, most popular girl in school to prom.

It was nearly expected from him; his parents were wealthy and elite, he excelled in any class or program and despite his wishes, Ben was considered one of the most popular students throughout his entire private school in Scarsdale. It only made sense that he would also choose someone alike to him.

He remembers his mother styling his hair. His father straightening his tie. There was not a single butterfly in his stomach when Ben met his date at her manor, high on the wealthiest hill of New York.

Ben remembers grabbing her manicured hand and not smiling. Barely conversing in the stretch limo ride. He hardly remembers if they even danced together.

Because Ben does not care. He has a future that he will work for. There’s no time for distractions.

When all the other boys ask him the following Monday if he got a piece of Rachel Smith’s ass, he lies. It’s expected of him to sleep with the prettiest girl in the school. If he didn’t, then who  _ knows  _ what these disgusting boys would tell their senior class.

It doesn’t matter in the end though. Nobody cared who he had sex with. No one cared who he dated. No one cared about Ben. They cared about his wealth and status, about whether or not his parents could get them into the fanciest country club in Scarsdale.

A bang sounds at the door, knocking Ben out of his random walk down memory lane.

He’s in the master bathroom of the Penthouse suite, fresh from the shower. A white towel is wrapped around his waist and it hangs low when he walks past the bedroom to the front door. The knock becomes even more insistent; whoever is on the other side is in an apparent hurry. 

When it swings open it’s the suite’s butler, Finn, holding his dry cleaning for tonight. His eyes not so subtly roam Ben’s partially nude body in one breath, the man standing up a little straighter as he passes him the hangers with gloved hands. 

“Have a splendid night, sir,” Finn says, nodding his head, then turns and marches down the hallway. There’s something off with the way he grits out the words, which reminds Ben of the phone call Hux had repeated back to him.

“Um, Mr. Tempête, if you have a minute…”

He stops four steps away from the frame, turning around like he’s in an animated movie.

Finn’s throat clears. “What can I help you with, Mr. Solo?”

It’s a bit awkward still standing in just his towel but it’s even worse nearly shouting down the hall. Still holding the door open, Ben leaves his spot and attempts to lower the volume of his voice. “How do you know her?”

His spine straightens even further, to a point where it looks like he will snap. Finn’s brows knit together, like some unspoken rule has been broken.

“I thought I told your manager that her identity is of no importance to you.”

The sternness in this declaration is nothing Ben has not dealt with before. And although he does not want to push a hospitality worker’s buttons, he is far too desperate to get to the bottom of this whole situation.

“I understand what you requested,” Ben starts out, “I just don’t want to lose her again.”

Finn takes in a shuddering breath, seeming to not expect _that_ response. His eyes waver to the ground slightly while Ben unknowingly takes a few steps closer, hand stupidly leaving the door with a lock that automatically fixes when it shuts.

The loud slam pulls the two men back to reality, Ben whipping around with a curse as he realizes he’s locked out. Finn chuckles lightly behind him and comes forward to the door, yanking out a universal key and letting the Senator back into his suite.

“She is of the most importance to me, Mr. Solo. If you discover anything or everything about her, her safety is jeopardized. I hope you understand.”

In all honesty, Ben does not. Even the _air_ that surrounds this woman is questionable. And why does it hypnotize him so?

“I do.” He steps back into the suite, holding the door and his dry cleaning. “Thank you.”

Finn merely nods, finally leaving as Ben stalks back to his bedroom to get changed.

The ball begins in two hours.

And Ben Solo has butterflies. 

***

With a quick peek at the bathroom clock, Rey realizes she only has thirty minutes before her ride arrives.

It’s no town car or limo, but rather Poe’s 1994 Miata, but he promised that she would be treated like royalty the entire ride over, even if the A/C doesn’t really work.

Jannah is curling loose beach waves into her hair while Rose steams the gown in the kitchen. Thanks to Rose and god’s graces, it fit almost  _ perfectly  _ yesterday with hardly any alterations needed. Rey finds it astounding that not once did Rose take any measurements. She just  _ knew. _

Temiri informed her that this week in art period they’ve been learning how to paint in between the lines. He volunteers to paint her nails when Rey realizes time is currently ticking away.

At first, she’s  _ extremely  _ hesitant to let a ten year old boy near her cuticles with  _ very  _ permanent silver nail polish, but he smiled the entire time he begged, so of course she gave in. And from what she can see through her thick, fake eyelashes, Temiri appears to be doing a rather damn good job.

“Are you  _ sure  _ you don’t want to join that after school art club this year?” Rey asks him. She tries not to tilt her chin, so Jannah won’t burn her neck.

He shrugs softly so not to disrupt the tiny brush. “Nah. They make us pay this stupid fee anyways just to join.”

Rey takes in a shuddering breath. The last thing she needs to do is  _ cry  _ with a pound of eyeliner on.

Temiri quickly realizes the weight of his words and is sent into a sudden panic. “I-it’s not the money! It’s j-just that I don’t really like the teacher who runs it o-or…”

He trails off when his eyes gaze up to meet Rey’s. He didn’t mean it, truly. It’s just a manner of their life.

But that will all change soon.

“Don’t worry about any more fees, Temiri. We’ll have plenty more in the bank after I’m promoted.”

_ And after I end everything with Ben. _

She can’t tell him that last part, though. Rey’s not sure who will be more heartbroken.

Jannah being the god sent she is, mindlessly keeps curling and does not comment on the situation. “There!” she exclaims, letting the last hot strand hit Rey’s bare shoulder. “Picture perfect, I’d say.”

Rey turns so she’s in full view of their little mirror and gasps at the sight of herself. Her lips are a deep berry color, paired with an unbelievable smoky look that enhances her eye color, then waves that fall and perfectly frame her face.

She’s…rather pretty.

She blinks back tears and stands up, only clad in  _ ultra _ -short spandex shorts and her strapless bra. Her fellow co-workers see her change every day and Temiri literally couldn’t care less.

_ It’s a late night almost two years ago, Rey assumes Temiri is already fast asleep at nearly eleven pm. She goes to change in their bathroom and doesn’t hear the door creak open until she sees the eight-year-old boy in the frame, eyes groggy from sleep. She’s only in her bralette and pineapple print undies and makes no move to cover herself. _

__

_ Rey sighs. “Does this not bother you?” _

__

_ He only shrugs. “Your underwear looks goofy.” _

__

_ They laugh together in the bathroom’s pale, soft light and then head to bed, together. _

__

Rose is done steaming and dresses Rey quickly, listening for her phone to vibrate upon Poe’s arrival. She laces up the dress with ribbon ties and smooths out the spandex below. It’s tight, Rey will give her that, but tight will push whatever cup size she is up to her chin.

The largest mirror in their tiny apartment is off to the side of the kitchen. It was part of a vanity Rey found on the street and after she cleaned it up, it fit in  _ perfectly _ .

Green is the first thing she sees followed by the tan of her skin overlayed with more fabric. Her chest takes her breath away (but that might be the corset) and the waterfalls of chiffon make her want to weep in its artistry.

“It’s…the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen Rose.” Rey can hardly stop her eyes misting at this point.

Rose then proceeds to slap her on the ass, hard, jolting Rey forward as her hands hit the mirror. “Anything for my hot bitch! He’s going to  _ swoon  _ when he se-“

She stops, remembering the only reason Rey’s even going. Temiri is the only one oblivious to the fact.

Temiri, who sits at the kitchen table, legs swinging and hands cupped under his chin, watching his foster sister with such gentle eyes that the news will be the worst to break to him. Even if she will have secured the promotion.

Because Temiri is a child. He does not care about money or job positions.

He just wants to see her happy.

Rey stalks over to him and takes his head between her hands, bending to press a kiss to the crown of his hair. His haircut is choppy and jagged, like usual, because Rey has never been good at cutting anything off. 

“Tell Mr. Solo I say hi, okay Sissy?” he whispers, like he’s afraid.

He is a clever kid.  _ Far _ too clever for his age.

He must have figured it out, just from Rey’s bittersweet mood.

Rey sighs. “Of course. I’m sure he’ll be happier to hear from you, rather than  _ me,”  _ she laughs weakly, trying to play it off casually.

Temiri tilts his head up to her.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

All she can do is breathe and watch his eyes, so conflicted. Is this a mother’s pain? Sacrificing things you want for the people you love?

If so, Rey will gladly do such.

Her phone starts to ring, announcing Poe’s arrival as the two other women scramble to grab her keys and purse. She’s out the door in thirty seconds and into the passenger side of Poe’s Miata, rolling down the window to say her final goodbye.

Rey starts to feel as green as her dress. The reality of  _ where  _ she’s going sinking into her skin.

“I don’t think I can do this, Rose. I think I’m going to puke.”

She grabs her hand in the car, Temiri glued to Rose’s waist. “No, you won’t. You are strong and resilient. Nothing can get through you, not even a stalky, rich and handsome Senator.”

“I think you’re making it worse…” Rey grumbles. “And this is all still a  _ lie.  _ I’m not-“

“Rey!” she exclaims. “The maid is not you.  _ This  _ is you.”

She can only gape at Rose, unsure on how to respond. Is that the truth? Rey has only ever seen herself as a maid, an employee, who works for a corporate giant and pays her exceedingly high state taxes each year.

Poe glances at the dash and taps on her shoulder.

“We’re gonna be late, sunshine and I need my next dose of drugs in thirty minutes.” He places his bandaged hand back on the steering wheel as Rose withdraws hers.

Rey’s eyes travel down to Rose’s side. “Be good for Rose tonight, alright? Have a fun time and be  _ polite _ .”

He only nods, clinging to Rose’s midsection. “Okay.”

She’s about to roll up the window when she hears a quiet  _ I love you _ from beyond the door.

Rey smiles and mouths back  _ I love you more  _ as the car drives her further and further away towards the Met.

*** 

In order to ignore a truly obnoxious conversation, one must have the proper distraction. And he’s in the Met for god’s sake, there’s  _ loads  _ of distractions here; they’re practically dripping from the ceiling.

Ben nurses a simple water with a lemon on the glass rim, eyes roaming the magnificent sandstone  _ Temple of Dendur _ . He’s never been inherently interested in Egyptology but mapping out patterns of an ancient language and complicated infographics is a thousand times better than mingling.

He keeps the other hand in his pants pocket. His fingers nervously twist the loose thread attached to the seam.

Ben is not sweating. There’s no reason to.

But the anxiety builds nonetheless; a chill of warmth running down his spine. The butterflies have now morphed into wasps and threaten to come up his throat and sting his tongue any minute now.

Hux is talking about some rather useless topics behind him and luckily keeping nosy celebrities and politicians at bay. It was part of the deal: Ben will only make an  _ appearance  _ at this lousy event with only a few quips and conversations with whom it really mattered. The minute she arrives, Ben is completely off-limits to  _ any _ kind of delegating. 

That goes for Hux too. Even if there’s an emergency.

_ No  _ interrupting.

He leaves the sights of the Temple to observe the glass panels that span the ceiling and walls of the vast room. The night is already cool and dark; the stars above echo just like the ones who surround him. All the guests have arrived.

Well,  _ almost _ all the guests expect the most important one in Ben’s eyes.

Maybe she decided last minute that Ben is actually the worst. Or her limo was caught in traffic. Or maybe she left the country  _ entirely  _ and Finn was just lying-

“ _ Ah-em.” _

Ben turns to Hux’s small gruff. There’s not a tinge of alcohol on his breath either and he is very thankful for his manager right now.

The red head turns and gestures up the platform’s glass bridge that guests must cross to enter. Above all the hubbub of drunk attendees and New York’s grotesque elite stands  _ her _ .

The woman with no name. The mysterious light of his being, like a glow through the dim.

The music softens to a buzz when their eyes catch. The emerald of her dress brings out the green in her eyes, Ben observes, and she descends down the stone steps to the dance floor composed of ancient rubble and ruins.

Ben’s feet move without realization.

She sucks in a breath when they  _ finally  _ meet toe to toe, the other guests blurring in his vision. Her eyes are a beautiful hazel color, much like the autumn leaves that litter the park they first walked through, and are slightly downcast.

“You’re here,” Ben mutters in near disbelief.

She snorts out a nervous laugh. “No, I’m actually just a simulated projection that New York’s lead engineers created.”

Ah.  _ There’s _ the bite to her beauty. And how Ben missed it so.

“Do…Would you like to dance with me?” He clears his throat, this impending moment making his stomach flutter worse than the pre-jitters of a speech in front of thousands, if not millions. “I-I’m not the _best_ at waltzing but-“

She must apparently take pity because the next second flashes by and then his hand is at her waist, hers on his shoulder, and they twirl ever so elegantly towards the live orchestra. His large feet don’t catch up with the rhythm at first, but she glides them smoothly in a square pattern, dancing to the sauntering beat.

“Let me just start with  _ sorry _ ”. Ben’s mind flashes back to the last time they met. And it was not a good time for anyone.

She gulps and looks off to the _Temple of_ _Dendur_ , repeating the same distraction method Ben was doing himself only minutes ago.

“It’s just-I’m…,” she starts, “I-I’m only here to tell you one thing.”

Based on the slight frown molded by her berry lips, the fear within him begins to grow.

He spins them slowly and bends his head sideways, interrupting her line of vision. “You can tell me anything.”

Now her breaths are even shorter.

“You’re an extremely busy man with a career that is of the utmost importance, Mr. Solo-“

“ _ What  _ did I say about calling me  _ Mr. Solo _ ?” He interrupts while chuckling. “How old do I look? Fifty years your senior?”

_ That  _ subsides her slight funk as they step together in repetition. “I don’t know Senator…I’m pretty sure that’s a silver strand coming from your forehead.” She takes her hand and flicks his forehead much like someone would swatting a cat. Her touch isn’t harsh or damaging; like a mother scolding a child in good humor.

When she tries to replace it upon his shoulder Ben grabs it and intertwines their fingers.

Whatever one thing she was trying to tell him instantly dies on her tongue.

Her painted face pinks at the sight, eyes dashing to the other guests to safeguard their single, private moment.

“I accept your apology,” she tries to blabber out, “and I’m sorry for how harsh I was with you-“

“You weren’t harsh.”

She scolds him, wavy hair dipping when she tilts her head down, her brow raised. “ _ Ben.  _ Let me finish.”

He quiets. Usually that’s an invitation to resume talking but this isn’t the Congressional floor.

“F-for my safety, as well as Temiri’s, I…can’t see you again.”

Ben blinks, her eyes now completely to the floor. Their hands still hold on to one another’s but his loses strength.

“ _ What?” _

“It’s my job, and there’s people who would be  _ very  _ upset if they knew we ever saw each other, a-and I really am sorry for leading you on or anything but I-”

She’s suddenly extended out into a twirl, her words forgotten as Ben spins her away and then into his arms. He  _ did  _ train as a ballroom dancer for two years under Leia’s watchful eye, but it doesn’t mean he entirely  _ basks  _ in the skill.

“You didn’t lead me on,” he whispers down to her, “I’ve been entranced since the moment I saw you.”

Conflicted is the only word coming to mind when Ben looks at her. He understands people don’t associate with politicians for numerous reasons, safety included, but Ben can make this right. He can talk his way through anything. He’s talked  _ Republicans  _ off cliff edges before.

“Ben…”

Someone taps at his shoulder and Rey yanks her hand from his gentle grip and away from their embrace, her hands gripping the cheap clutch tight to her stomach. With a near growl in his throat, Ben turns around to see Senator Lawrence Frazer of Pennsylvania, the older and squatted man smoothing the back of Ben’s tux.

“ _ What  _ do you want?”

“Ben!” She exclaims, shocked by his roaring tone. “Don’t be rude.”

She may have a tongue like silver, but silver is heavy and mighty if forged correctly.

And to anyone’s disbelief, Ben takes his voice down a level, straightens his spine and shakes the fellow politician’s hands  _ without  _ a deadly grip. His teeth remain gritted behind close lips.

“My! I’ve never seen you with a date at any of these events, Solo, much less a woman who can  _ bark  _ at you like that!” The hefty man laughs. Ben does not.

“Is there anything I can do for you this evening,  _ Senator _ ?” he sneers.

“Ah,” Frazer says, “Just wanted to cash-in my visit with you. It’s rare to see you attend such a high-profile event and with someone so  _ beautiful _ .”

He clearly checks her out, not an inch of her skin or dress unseen with his beady eyes. It’s taking all of Ben’s willpower not to kill him then and there.

“That gown is mightily unique. Is it Prada? Maybe Gucci?”

She looks uncomfortable attempting to answer, her fingers nervously twirling one of the long, sheer sleeves. “Um, my friend made it for me. And she doesn’t really…have a company. Or anything.”

Ben suddenly remembers Lawrence Frazer’s wife is an important mogul in the fashion industry.

“Independent then! How splendid. But I must say, the design seems rather  _ novice...  _ in a good way of course!” He attempts to pick up his outright insult, Ben’s fist clenching the more he speaks. “Innocence and liberty are terrific things to portray in one’s outfit.”

How this woman has the  _ patience  _ to deal with scum like Senator Frazer is beyond him. 

And then this man, this  _ grimy  _ man, holds out a hand for her to shake.

“What name goes along with this incredible look, gorgeous?”

Ben can see the physical  _ cringe  _ spread on her face.

“It’s…” she grips harshly to his pink palm. Her eyes flash to Ben’s who are blown in anticipation. Is she going to say  _ Bazine _ ? Maybe a last name?

Will she tell the truth?

“M-my name is…Cinderella, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”

The Senator blanches. Ben must too.

“ _ What? _ ” Ben says.

“Um. I’m sorry...” Frazer tries to laugh along. “Did you say... _ Cinderella _ ?”

She lets go and starts to back away, Ben frozen in space as he watches her panic, the tight green bodice stretching with every breath.

“W-Water!” She chokes out. “I n-need water.”

“Wait!” Ben shouts, surging forward until he feels arms holding his; arms holding him back and away from  _ her. _

And then  _ Cinderella _ dashes into the crowd of muted colors and black suits.

***

Bazine Netal was  _ not _ rejected. Women of the Papenworth house do  _ not  _ get rejected.

Daddy easily paid for her seat at this boorish ball. The dinner wasn’t even dietary friendly, and her lawyers will most  _ definitely  _ be chatting with whatever nincompoop runs this thing.

She even wore her Armani gown tonight and  _ no one  _ has approached her to chat.

It’s quite dishonorable. They should all be ashamed.

So, Bazine resorts to standing in the corner, the farthest away from the overly zealous pit, and sips on some fruity cocktail that a servant in a tux brought her.

She’s only got eyes for one man tonight.

After their incredible lunch together, Bazine still cannot fathom why he hasn’t called or talked to her again. It’s obvious he didn’t come with a date so why didn’t  _ she  _ get the plus one? Daddy said her single plate was nearly  _ four grand  _ to purchase and a waste of money in his eyes.

By the time the sun falls below the horizon, Bazine is already onto her fifth drink.

Tipsy eyes still follow the brooding and frankly  _ delicious  _ man across the floor as she begins to sway in place to the music. It all catches up to her; the boredom and the booze, her watching becoming blurrier and blurrier as she sips.

She really ought to have a better tolerance. This is pathetic.

It’s only for  _ five  _ minutes, Bazine swears, that she does not look. Because when her head focuses back to the crowded dance floor, Benjamin Solo is no longer alone.

The woman is rather short; her hair in sad curls and dress with threads sticking out from the bodice. It’s like someone tried to dress up a pauper in clown makeup and an oversized doll dress.

Bazine cannot look away.

She watches them waltz, his lithe arms spinning her in and out of each other’s auras. 

And the strangest thing?

Senator Solo is  _ smiling. _

It looks foreign on him. It’s like Bazine is seeing the Loch Ness monster with her own two Lastiked eyeballs. A forbidden and unnatural sight.

An older man, one she doesn’t recognize, then turns Ben around and shakes his hand. Bazine is still too far away to read lips and far too tipsy to decipher his body language, but the old man shakes the green incongruous brunette’s hand too, a smile  _ not  _ plastered on her blurry face.

A face that looks… _ familiar. _

Where has she seen that woman before? A convention in Sicily? The summer party in the Hamptons? Perhaps they know each other from boarding school way back when.

But no woman of Bazine’s acquaintance would suddenly…run off.  _ Especially _ away from a beast like  _ Ben Solo. _

He is forced to watch her take off into the mass of people when his bitchy red-headed friend appears from nowhere and grabs him at the shoulders. They appear to argue about something, the old man quietly leaving the two to their bickering.

The mystery woman runs up the stairs, over the bridge and  _ directly  _ to the restrooms.

Everyone is too busy with themselves to notice Bazine give chase.

She finds the woman, who looks more like a  _ girl  _ than a woman, her features light and youthful even with her head bowed into the bathroom sink.

If Bazine is going to crack this riddle, she will need to put on her fakest grin and nicest tone. Girls  _ always  _ listen to the nice ones.

“Sweetheart, are you doing alright? Did the wine get to you?” Bazine fake-empathizes, placing a tanned hand onto her bare back.

She just sighs to the counter, her eyes never leaving the drain. “I-I’m fine, thank you.”

Well,  _ that  _ didn’t give her anything new.

“I just  _ adore  _ your dress.” Bazine runs his fingers along one of the chiffon waterfalls. “What kind of silk is this? The fibers feel filament, rather than spun. Is it a new breed of silk?”

Any high-class woman would easily know the difference between a manufactured and natural fiber. So, it surprises Bazine what the girl says next:

“What the hell is  _ filament _ ?”

_ Play it off, just laugh it off. _

Her chuckle sounds throughout the narrow restroom, the girl continuing to stare. Is she about to puke? Bazine can’t tell. “You know, you look  _ awfully  _ familiar. Have we met at another event before?”

The question knocks the strange girl from her trance, enough to meet Bazine’s eyes.

And my  _ god  _ are they wide when she sees them.

“Y-you, um-“ the girl gulps, “uh, yes. We…have.”

“Oh goodies! I  _ know  _ I never forget a face!”

With as much faux friendliness as she can muster, Bazine grabs the girl’s hands and holds them, like she does with her other twittering girlfriends.

“Do tell me then sweetheart, are you  _ the  _ Benjamin Solo’s date tonight?”

The girl doesn’t giggle but she does smile.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Bazine nods back with too much excitement. “Yes! Of course!”

The girl's smile morphs to a wicked grin.

“Good.” Her eyes squint to mere slits. “ _ So can I. _ ”

Her exit is with a huff. Short, quick and dirty, much like her attitude.

Bazine is still gawking at the empty spot that the mystery woman leaves minutes after. She’s probably a hired whore. Someone easy for a politician.

“That  _ bitch! _ ” Bazine screams to the porcelain tiles.

Daddy will most  _ certainly  _ hear about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw "green incongruous brunette" was an impeccable line created by bee and i love is sm


	12. twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhahah...hahahaha...
> 
> I'm alive, believe it or not. 
> 
> I promise I didn't forget about this fic! It's just that I have a hard time writing romance (go figure) so this chapter was pretty hard. Updates will be much more frequent after this. 
> 
> *THERE HAS BEEN A RATING BUMP AND NEW TAGS* Please be aware of this! I really tried to write a few scenes as M but they just weren't working. If you are uncomfortable with this, please shoot me a [DM](https://twitter.com/dachenabritta) and I will tell you what parts to skip personally. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, [BEE](https://twitter.com/justsunshinerey)!!! I love her to death and she really helped me with my confidence in this chapter. 
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> DCB

“Wait!”

Her heels thud loudly against the polished floor, then the carpeted lobby, until Rey feels the brush of the autumn night against her face. She takes a shaky breath as she passes a pair of men smoking outside the museum, unaware and engorged into whatever conversation they’re entertaining. 

That had been too close.  _ All  _ of it was too close. Not only did she fail to sever her ties well enough with Ben, now Bazine will for sure recognize her face the next time she cleans the demon’s room, and then the  _ embarrassment  _ of saying her name was  _ Cinderella  _ creates a new, hot flare of shame that makes her ears practically steam. 

_ Cinderella? Seriously?  _

It sounds like something a child would say. 

But Rey is young. She can’t even legally rent a car. And she’s never been thrown into a situation even close to this magnitude. 

She pulls her cellphone out of the clutch towards the descent of the first concrete step, scrolling through her contacts to find Poe. 

They’re all going to be so happy that this is over. 

She doesn’t belong in this world. Never did. 

Clearly. 

But right as Rey goes to hit the green  _ CALL  _ button, the loud and resounding voice calls from behind her again.

“Wait!”

His voice is so unique and deep, that Rey shouldn’t  _ need  _ to turn around and glance back at the man she’s left behind. Hell, she should just keep running; running away like she always does. 

Yet, she whips around. Harshly. 

The phone goes tumbling down the remaining dozen steps as Rey loses her footing in heels she hasn’t worn since senior year of high school. She lands on her wrist with a wince, as her entire body falls onto the slope. 

Ben’s not close enough to catch her, but he’s close enough for her to hear a plethora of curses and profanities emit the second she goes down. He’s to her in a flash, helping her up and grabbing her fallen clutch. 

The phone sits on the street just before the staircase, in multiple pieces. 

Ben holds her the best he can in his arms, Rey cradling her left wrist. She can only gaze down to the shattered phone, no tears forming from the pain of her now throbbing arm or the fact that she’ll have to drop  _ another  _ three hundred dollars. 

The heat he radiates is intoxicating. Ben’s hands are placed so gingerly on her waist and make the world feel just a bit better. His hair is barely tickling her shoulder as he leans down to inspect her wrist. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d trip so bad.” He goes to grab her wrist and Rey is snapped from her momentary stupor, marching down the steps with an extra chip on her shoulder. “Wait-”

She is here to  _ end  _ everything. Not start something. 

When she bends down to start picking up the pieces, the tears finally break through. Rey squats on the sidewalk of the Met, picking up the pieces of not only her phone, but of her soul too.

Ben runs down the stairs and bends down in front of her, gathering the remaining bits before she can. 

Sadness then just becomes a fleeting emotion. Something angrier bubbles below her skin. 

“Give it  _ back- _ ”

Rey goes to snatch them from his large fingers with her left hand, forgetting in the moment that the poor joint is most likely sprained, and hisses in pain, the pieces Ben picked up dropping again. He doesn’t say anything or bend down. 

“ _ Please. _ ”

It’s pathetic, how watery her words sound. Like a baby crying over spilled milk. 

Again, in complete silence, Ben reaches for her other hand and pries the rest of the shattered phone from her hand and places it into his jacket’s pocket. The poor device is so destroyed that Rey doubts  _ anything  _ could be recovered, including the hundreds of photos she has of Temiri. 

His first day of fifth grade. The illegal fireworks they set off for the 4th of July. The old picture Maz took of twelve-year-old Rey holding baby Temiri. 

This path of thinking creates an onslaught of even  _ more  _ tears, but Ben is quick, bringing her into his touch. Rey cries against his, no doubt, expensive suit jacket, not caring that her snot will most likely ruin whatever material it is. 

“Why did you run?” Ben whispers. 

It’s so soft to a point where Rey strains to hear him. But maybe she doesn't  _ want  _ to listen. If she doesn’t hear his question, she won’t have to answer it. 

He must pick up on her...method. “ _ Bazine,  _ please tell me why-”

“My name is not Bazine,” Rey interrupts, looking up to him with mascara-runned eyes. “It...it isn’t Cinderella either.”

She sniffles and rubs her nose a few times. 

There’s no better time to tell the truth than in the middle of Manhattan in the arms of one the state’s wealthiest politicians. 

“I couldn't tell you my name before because...of who I really am. If you had known at the time, I don’t know what would have happened to me or Temiri, and that’s a risk I can’t take.” She huffs, the  _ absurdity  _ of the entire situation hitting her. “Hell, I don’t even post photos of  _ my face  _ on the internet, I think my Facebook is a cat wearing some stupid cowboy hat or something.”

Ben is completely frozen when she looks up to his espresso eyes, an emotion crossed of stun and revelation. 

“I-I’m sorry Ben. I’m just a-”

Rey can’t even finish her question because his lips are suddenly touching hers. He leans down dramatically as Rey meets him on tippy toes, completely confused but welcomed to the sensation. 

He kisses her in a timid way, unsure if she’ll pull away. But when she drops her clutch and wraps her good hand around his sturdy neck, Ben must get the memo. He pulls her close to him, their heat mingling to a sauntering fire despite the cool breeze. 

Rey  _ hates  _ how right it feels. 

She breaks away first, gasping a little. His eyelids are droopy in a drunken haze, while Rey’s are no doubt wide as the moon. This is the  _ exact  _ opposite thing she was supposed to do tonight. 

Ben touches her cheek, wiping one of the still falling tears. “I don’t care who you are, Rey. Or  _ what  _ you are.”

She’s paralyzed instantaneously. 

“H-how did you--You know my  _ name?” _

He tilts his head, raising an arm to ruff his hair. 

“I may have...looked up Temiri when I was on my crazy hunt to find you. He’s the only name that showed  _ any  _ results. I knew then that you weren’t Bazine. The only other name with _Solana_ was Rey...with a profile picture of a cat...in a cowboy hat.”

Oh god, how much does he know?

Temiri is still in the system online. One google search and he’d know. 

“Is there anything you found out...about Temiri?”

She sighs in relief when Ben shakes his head. “No. Just you. I promise.”

He gulps, looking down at her guiltily. 

“I’m really sorry, Rey, truly. I wouldn’t have ever looked you guys up but I was getting desperate. I thought you were a fucking  _ hallucination  _ for a few days there.”

She only raises a brow at his excuse. She’s nailed the _tell me the truth, young man_ look and it’s _definitely_ working on a son that must have been a momma’s boy.There’s more to it. Rey knows.

“And…” he trails, with more he longs to say. 

“And I couldn’t stand to lose you again. Just like tonight.” He breathes, letting the same hand run anxiously through his hair. “For shit’s sake, I had to  _ bite  _ a fully-grown man to come out here and chase you down.”

She has no idea what he’s talking about but the sincerity of his voice is clear.

Ben Solo truly wants her. 

“So, you don’t mind?” she asks timidly. "T-that I had to pretend?"

He grins and it’s the most wonderful thing.

“We all have our reasons, Rey.”

God, and how she  _ loves  _ her name on his lips. Her  _ real  _ name. 

“I’m not Bazine. I’m nothing like her. I’m actually-”

“I don’t care,” he says through his smile, “heiress or housekeeper, it doesn't matter. I want  _ you. _ ”

Rey takes in a shuddering breath. How did he figure out she was a maid? Was there information somewhere online? Did he see her uniform and choose not to say anything?

She wants to reach up and take his face within her hands as well, but winces when she bends her wrist a little too quickly, the painful reminder of her injury and, and now unreachable ride home. 

“Ben, I-I…”

She gulps.  _ I want you.  _

“I...don’t have a ride home.”

He slumps, only if it’s slightly, and reaches for his phone, one arm still around Rey. She wipes at the remnants of tears on her face while he appears to text someone.

“I just called my driver. I’m more than happy to take you home.”

But the ball has hardly started, the dinner awaiting to be served. 

“Y-you don’t have to do that, Ben, I can call a uber o-or-”

“With what phone? I doubt you’re old fashioned enough to still have a pager.”

He’s right. Rey is stranded. She  _ could  _ hail a taxi, like any average New Yorker knows how to do, but she doubts she has enough balance available on any of her cards to book a ride  _ all  _ the way uptown. 

“But what about dinner?”

He looks down to her in amusement. “No way you’re sitting through that dinner with a possibly sprained wrist. You need this wrapped and iced, and probably a couple painkillers.”

Rey notices that the skin  _ does  _ appear to be growing swollen and tender to the touch. Ben is unfortunately right, but no one is home right now. This is a night where Rey would have depended on  _ Temiri  _ helping her, but he’s staying the night with Finn and Poe. 

When Ben places his phone back into his pants pocket, his face falls.

“Oh  _ shit.  _ I don’t have my wallet.”

A black car, a nice one, pulls up the moment Ben curses. It must be his driver, since he shoots him a quick nod before unlacing from Rey’s touch. 

“Just tell Ralph your address and we can drop you off. I have to go find my wallet, I probably lost it when wrestling Hux.”

Ben steps a few feet back to the staircase, still turned to Rey.

“You’re not going to run off again...are you?”

Rey can only smile and shake her head. 

“No, Ben. I won’t.” She holds the limp hand up. “I promise on my potential sprain.”

_ That  _ gets him to laugh, even if it’s short and under his breath, as the lumbering man runs back up the stairs and back through the entrance, going at quite an unnecessary speed. 

Doing as she was told, Rey picks up her fallen clutch and walks to the car. The driver, Ralph, has opened up the back door, a hand out to usher her in. She takes a shuddering breath. Rey has literally just experienced a roller coaster of emotions and she’s feeling the whiplash.

“Where to, miss?” Ralph asks.

“5925 Post Road, please,” she says, her voice slowly calming down. Rey takes his gloved hand as she squishes  _ elegantly  _ against the leather. 

Ralph stands outside the door, not shutting it, and instead staring down at her. 

“That location is in the Bronx, miss.”

Rey just awkwardly laughs, because what else is she supposed to do? Explain the situation? She’s lucky Ben was able to figure it out before the words “ _ I’m actually a maid and not some highbrow heiress _ ” ever had to leave her mouth. 

“Um...that would be correct,” adding quickly, “sir.”

His wrinkly face contorts as the driver nods in acceptance, closing the door behind him. Ben is taking a little longer than she thought, so Rey settles herself comfortably to the seat.

This life is amazing. 

Nice cars, nice kisses. It’s something she’s dreamed about since she was a dirty rat in the foster system, longing for something,  _ anything  _ of her own. 

And she already does have something. Something she needs to protect. 

Rey turns her face to the driver, who’s inputting her address to the GPS.

This might be Rey’s only night and only chance.

Because she  _ did  _ come here for a reason. And she’ll still follow through, even if it rips apart her soul.

But she's allowed one night. 

“Ralph?” she quietly asks, Ben finally soaking into the peripheral of her vision.

Just...one.

“Yes, miss?”

“Take us to the Coruscant Astaria. And don’t tell Ben. Please.”

Ralph doesn't face her or hardly move, the finger hovering over the GPS clicking a few times until it’s fully closed.

“Yes, miss.”

***

Ben rushes back to the ballroom, bypassing the few security guards who, at first, shout at him, until they then realize he’s the literal Senator of New York.

He’s basically a flash of black when he finds Hux still straightening out his suit jacket, swearing alongside Mitaka, who is holding not one, but _ two  _ drinks for the manager. 

“You’re back to break something, aren’t you Solo?” Hux holds out two hands in defense. “I’m fucking quitting if anything happens to my nose or-”

“Wallet!” he quickly shouts, drawing the attention of the guests surrounding the three men. Ben’s eyes roam the floor, scouring for the thin fold of leather. He catches it in a flash, right at the edge of the hor d'oeuvres table. 

“Mr. Solo,” Mitaka starts, still holding the drinks and now tailing Ben, “I don’t think it’s a wise idea to go after her, Hux informed me of the circumstance of her actual employment and-” 

But Ben doesn’t turn around at all. He walks fast, too fast, for Mitaka to catch up, and Hux is merely an artifact left to the demise of the crumbling empire. He’s bitching and yelling at Ben, but it’s no use. Hux and his warnings are long forgotten. 

She’s already in the car seated comfortably on the right hand side, cradling her wrist. Her jaw ticks nervously. The pang of guilt hits Ben’s heart like a knife and he can’t remember the last time he had to basically play nurse. Although, if he is going to help her, she’ll have to invite him into whichever hotel she’s staying at now, and Ben’s still unsure of her feelings. 

Ben’s unsure of his feelings too, but that problem is not for tonight. 

The car revs and they take off into the Manhattan night. The silence within the car is uncomfortable and Rey’s leg jiggles a little, most likely trying to shake her anxiety. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Rey mutters from the other side of the car. It’s almost like they’re strangers who are so happening to share a cab. 

And oh how Ben wants to turn that feeling around.

He gingerly reaches out, and with the softest of touch, flips her wrist over and begins to massage the sides of the bone. 

Rey hisses. It’s swollen. 

“Do you have anyone to take care of this?” Ben asks, metaphorically crossing the fingers in his head. 

Her eyes stare down to the floor while the lamplights of the city illuminates the interior of the car, lending Ben brief flashes of her fully-lightened form. He tries not to be even creepier than he already feels like, so Ben tries not to stare at the lip of her bodice or the swell of her hips below the layers of skirt. Instead, he focuses his attention to small circles against her skin. 

Rey clears her throat and her eyes meet his. “Um. No. No one’s at home right now.” 

Ben hides his excitement through a politically-perfect poker face. 

“If there’s anyone I can call for you, it’s no problem.” 

He wants to savor this moment, even if just for a few minutes. She probably has a personal assistant who can take care of her wrist, which would leave Ben alone and useless. But he would be happy to know she’s well taken care of, even if it's not with him.

The hotel she’s staying at must be close to the Coruscant Astaria because the car slows down in front of it, Ben assuming Rey’s perhaps at the Four Seasons down the block. But when Ralph opens up her door, thus forcing her to remove her hand from his, Rey doesn’t begin to walk down 3rd Avenue. 

“Are you coming?” she asks, Ben still sitting in the car, door wide open. 

He quickly grabs her clutch, then leads them both through the rotating doors. When Ben places a hand against her waist and she shows no resistance, sparks literally fly in his brain.

“So...are you still staying at the  _ Coruscant _ then?” 

Rey has the heart to laugh at him when they enter the elevator, Ben’s hand being so large that he can press both the floor button and door close button as he also grips her clutch. 

“Like I told you Ben, it’s almost like I live here.”

He must resist every urge in his body not to kiss her again right then and there. 

“What floor?” He asks even as they begin to ascend. 

She just looks up to the glass numbers above the doors, watching them light up one by one. No one else stops the elevator and Rey makes no means to stop at any other floor.

The final sound for the penthouse rings Ben to his very core. 

Rey exits. “This is me.”

Now he’s the equivalent of a puppy, just following her lead to his own room and not asking a single question. The only time she side steps is to allow Ben to unlock the door, and when she enters his suite it is almost like she’s familiar with it already. Rey tries unfastening the buckles of her shoes but wobbles dangerously, Ben swooping in and undoing them for her while she rests her good hand on his shoulder. 

“I have to make some quick calls for ice and first aid,” Ben tells her, unlatching the tiny silver buckle. Rey doesn’t reply and when he looks up, she’s eying him with a tenderness Ben has never been welcomed to by  _ anyone.  _

“Are you alright?”   
  


She nods, then smiles. “Yes, sorry. It’s just that-” Rey pauses, stepping out of her heels, “no one has ever done this for me before.”

Taking off her shoes is the  _ least  _ Ben could do, if he was being honest, and it's extremely concerning that her bar is apparently _ this _ low. What kind of man was Temiri’s father? Wouldn’t she have assistants to do things like this for her?

The thoughts leave Ben briefly as he makes three calls. 

One to Hux to tell him to book another hotel somewhere else tonight. 

One to Mitaka saying the same. 

And one to the concierge asking for an ice bag and compression wrap. 

Rey sits patiently on the couch, neck craned to look outside through the massive windows. There’s thin, dried streaks of black running down her face from the sobbing earlier and seeing as Ben does not own makeup wipes, he searches fervently through the cabinets praying that the maid who dressed his bathroom had stocked them somewhere. 

There’s a knock at the door at the same time Ben finds a few in a random drawer and he practically runs to the door to answer it, collecting everything and thanking the butler. She’s still quiet, except for a low hiss, when Ben places the bag of ice on her wrist and begins to unwind the wrap. 

“Has anyone ever done this for you?” He asks.

Rey nods, wiping the ruined makeup off. “Yes. One time I burned myself bad on the stove trying to cook split pea soup and Temiri patched me up after.” She smirks. “He was so proud. Told me he should be a doctor and I agreed.”

Ben agrees too. Temiri is caring and full of heart. Exactly what a doctor should be. 

And to think that kid loves  _ politics,  _ out of all things.

“I think Temiri can be anything he wants, really. With a mother like you, I don’t think anything’s out of his reach.”

She blushing when Ben looks up, fabric wrap ready to go around her wrist. 

“T-thank you, Ben.”

The blush ignites something else within him. What would it take to make her red? To completely flush her? Ben’s a politician, down to his skin, blood and bone marrow. 

And politicians like to  _ push.  _

“You truly are spectacular, Rey.” He keeps his voice ridiculously calm as he begins to gently wrap her wrist. "I've never met anyone like you before."

Rey’s breathing hard and still not saying anything. He keeps working, praying he won’t overstep. But if they’re on the same page, and he hopes they are, Ben is going full throttle. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking of you since the day we walked together in Central Park.”

Ben secures the wrap on her forearm and places it back into her lap atop the mountain of skirts. He reaches down to place his hands against her naked shins but Rey jolts.

“S-sorry, I-”

“I can stop, Rey,” he says, interrupting her stammering. 

She grabs his chin and tilts his head up. Her eyes are scared, but full of want, mirroring his own in the same way. “T-tonight I was supposed to stop everything, Ben. End this.” 

His heart drops, remembering what Rey said earlier at the ball. 

“...but I can’t. I-I don’t want to forget about you.”

Her lips connect to his before Ben can even blink, his heart now soaring and exploding. When has a kiss ever felt like fireworks? It never has for him before. 

Rey winces while trying to place her bad hand on his shoulder and Ben decides that she should absolutely not be doing any work. He pushes her back against the couch and returns his palms to her calves, letting them skim up her long, satin legs, parting the chiffon as he does so. 

His hands reach the flesh of her thighs, soft and squishy and everything Ben had imagined. The sea of emerald skirts is now pooled around her waist, revealing the shorts she’s wearing under her dress. Ben gazes up for permission, and she nods, letting him peel the shorts and accompanying thong down in one go. 

She quickly closes her legs though and Ben tries to pry them apart. But Rey doesn’t budge. 

“I haven’t, um-,” she stumbles out, “I haven’t done this in a long time. If ever.”

His brows arch. “No one has-?”

Rey shakes her head nervously and  _ there  _ is the red face, perfectly flushed, that Ben was chasing after. 

“Well, how about we change that tonight?”

He rubs soothing circles into the skin around her ass and slowly, she opens up for him, like a ribbon unraveling itself. Ben doesn't want to show any hesitation and make her  _ more  _ nervous so he quickly dives to the apex of her thighs and licks a broad stripe. 

Rey covers her mouth and squeaks. 

Ben wants to hear that again. Preferably,  _ many _ more times.

He goes easy, only at first, letting Rey get used to the sensation. But eating her out is like a dream and Ben can’t get enough of her taste. She’s just as delicious as he’d imagined and soon both his nose and mouth are buried between her legs, her noises urging him on with every lick and swipe. 

They both don’t hear it but rain begins to slowly patter against the windows. The sprinkle soon transforms to a downpour, and as the volume of the storm ramps, so does Rey. 

Her hand has moved from muffling herself to instead grabbing Ben roughly by the crown of his hair. He groans the more she yanks, encouraging him to go faster. 

“T-that’s good-” she moans out. But Ben wants her to lose the ability to speak. 

He seeks out the spot right above with his tongue and when it’s found, Ben wraps his lips and  _ sucks,  _ causing her hips to jolt upwards and a shout to escape. 

He’s successful in his goal because Ben can’t understand a single thing besides his own name in the incoherent babbling above him. It makes him ignore the nearly painful erection he has constricted in wool pants. It makes him forget about her lies and her fake identity. It makes Ben forget about her needing to leave him-

Rey goes rigid, her legs and hand trembling as Ben feels the rhythmic pulsing echoing through her body.

It makes him forget everything, even if it’s for a little while. 

  
  
  



	13. thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sizzling secrets never stop at the _Coruscant Astaria_...
> 
> Thank you to my mom for beta'ing! She gets the um, _censored_ versions of my stories and does not read them thru Ao3 lol. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> chaney

The storm rages on throughout the entire night, the windows drenched and the entire city glistening from its downfall. But when the morning comes, like it always has and like it always will, there’s beams of sunshine illuminating the penthouse, creating an iridescent haze that Rey could only describe as magical. 

There are a few other things she could also describe as magical, all which took place last night in Ben’s arms. 

He’d been so careful with her the entire time: making sure she was comfortable, that she felt safe whenever he lifted her up; that her wrist wasn’t jolted too much when he roughly fucked her on the bed, against the wall and on the solid mahogany desk.

Rey can’t remember being this sore ever. 

They’re both lying in the master bed, which is insane to her. The idea of even sitting on a couch in the Penthouse is just an unrealistic dream to a maid and now she’s tangled in the silk sheets, hair mused against the down pillow. 

Ben’s fast asleep, perhaps more exhausted than Rey seeing as she had little to no effort in last night’s...tribulations. He’d insisted that he’d take care of her and that thought alone made her want to weep. 

Because no one takes care of her. _Rey_ takes care of Rey.

She’d lied back and let him feast on her, which was terrifying and exciting. She’d let him scoop her up and carry them both to the bathroom, where Ben helped remove the remainder of her smeared makeup off. Rey giggled as she wiped the ruined lipstick off his lips too, until she was kissing him again and ignoring the lingering taste of herself on his tongue. 

Rey wanted him to fuck her, right then and there, atop the marble countertops that she’d dressed only a week prior. But Ben insisted on the bed. Didn’t want to sprain anything else. 

The mattress is a lot firmer than she’d imagined when making the beds, and nothing cracks or pops when Rey rises, stretching both arms to the ceiling. Her dress is...somewhere, she’s not entirely sure, and hickies scatter her breasts and neck, like stars in the sky. Even with the bed moving as much as it does, Ben doesn’t move or wake. 

Ben is nothing like his reputation when he sleeps, face relaxed and yesterday's coiffured hair more like a bird's nest. Rey wants nothing more than to trace the outline of his jaw and nose again with her fingers but he may rouse from that.

Last night was the end. Officially. Rey doesn’t have another choice. 

She sneaks out of the bed, tip toeing across the carpet to fetch her dress. It’s a crumpled mess and since she can’t call for a ride, Rey will have to take the bus. Preferring not to completely look like the walk of shame, she plucks Ben’s white button down from the night before and a clean pair of sweatpants. Hopefully he won’t miss them.

And it's a good thing the bus stop is only a few blocks away because Rey looks absolutely _ridiculous._

She stops at the desk. There’s papers and books scattered everywhere. It had only taken one sweep of Ben’s hefty arm to clear a spot to lay her down on. She hides the blush though, as Rey picks up a pen and notepad. 

_Ben,_

_It’s been a dream. One that I wish I didn’t have to wake up from._

_Goodbye, for now_

_Rey_

The pen hovers above the paper, frozen in time and space. She wants to say more but the words just aren’t materializing. 

Maybe they’ll be together someday, long into the future. When Rey’s financially secure, Temiri is truly safe from Plutt and she’s worthy to be with someone like Senator Benjamin Solo. 

She sighs and looks back over to the sleeping man. 

That day is not today. 

Rey makes sure that the door doesn’t slam on her way out, fearing that Ben will wake and chase after her again. And this time, she can’t let him catch her. 

***

  
  


An incoming hangover makes her head pound. Bazine Netal can still taste the vodka on her tongue and _feel_ the heavy makeup still lingering on her face from last night.

_Ugh._

She rises from her bed and curses the harsh sunlight, grabbing a pair of Dior glasses from Milan Fashion Week. 

Wandering around the Park suite, Bazine follows her trail of shoes, credit cards and other various amenities sprawled across the floor. She’d nearly drunk herself into a mad stupor after seeing that insolent little _bitch_ leave with Senator. And in his private town car, might she add. 

Bazine tries calling her father. When he doesn’t pick up, she leaves a _very_ threatening voicemail and then immediately calls Delphi. 

“Zizi! Good morning!” her shrill voice beckons through the speaker. 

“Delphi, get your ass over here as soon as possible.”

Bazine is _not_ in the mood for good mornings and nicknames. 

Delphi huffs across the line. “Damn, _alright_ then. Don’t know what crawled up your ass this morning and died, but I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

She hangs up the call and tosses the phone onto the messed bed. 

Bazine orders room service and uses Delphi’s travel time attempting to make herself presentable.

***

Rey watches the elevator’s light flash as she descends the forty something floors. She’s lucky again this morning that no one has called to stop her car, so it keeps going until she reaches the lobby. 

She peaks a glance out past the door when they open. The coast looks fairly clear. 

Also there’s no rule that says she can’t stay the night in one of the rooms. 

It would just be...embarrassing to be caught. By a co-worker, no less.

Frank the doorman is the only one to acknowledge her as she whirls through the rotating doors. But Frank has seen enough shit in New York City for several lifetimes, so he just tips his hat and bids Rey a cheery _good morning._

The bus is right on time. 

Rey digs her Metrocard out from her clutch and scans it, quickly choosing a seat. It’s fairly empty for a Saturday morning. Peaceful, almost. 

Which is probably why Rey starts crying as she watches the city blocks out the window. 

She leans her forehead against the cold glass, letting the hot tears drip one by one onto Ben’s shirt and pants. There’s a part of her soul Rey feels like she’s either forgotten, and she has the sick feeling that it’s currently lost somewhere on the topmost floor of the _Coruscant Astaria_. 

According to the new articles, Ben will be leaving Manhattan tomorrow morning. She won’t have to worry about running into him while dressing rooms, or bumping into him in the lobby with her cart. 

He probably wouldn’t even acknowledge her if Rey was dressed in her uniform. No matter how many times they fucked or tears she spilled or confessions he drawed out, they’re still imprisoned on each of their respective social sides. 

Ben’s side being the life of a wealthy and busy politician. A life that doesn’t have the time for _her._ Or Temiri, in this case. 

She wipes the tears away from her cheeks in time for the bus to arrive at her stop. The air is still chilly, the autumn breeze blowing right through the thin shirt, but Rey hurries her way down the bustling streets, waving to vendors she’s bought from and neighbor’s she’s only met a handful of times. 

When Rey’s safe back in her shitty apartment, she lets out a sigh of relief. She digs through a pile of junk in the kitchen, grabbing the landline she had to buy along with her internet. Rey thought it useless for years.

She calls Finn, letting him know she’s home safe and to bring Temiri. 

Finn’s a smart man. He doesn’t ask any questions. 

Rey’s not sure what exactly she’ll tell Temiri. He obviously likes Ben, less in the way as a hopeless fan and more in the way of admiration, so she imagines it’ll be pretty painful. Like everything’s been lately. 

The thought of the promotion though, calms her nerves and heart. 

It’s the only thing that can right now. 

***

  
  


Delphi arrives in record time. Her driver must have gotten a raise or something. 

Bazine meets her down in the lobby, sunglasses arranged immaculately on her nose (which Daddy bought), Chanel crossbody slung over shoulder and outfit entirely Fendi. 

“What in god’s name is going on, Zizi?” Delphi spits, stomping to meet her by the concierge desk. 

Bazine wants to take off the sunglasses in order to show off the literal fire in her eyes but her hangover pulses at the mere thought. 

“You probably haven’t heard yet,” she starts, remembering last night all too well, “but Senator Solo had a date at the ball. And she _left_ with him!”

Delphi gasps. “ _What?_ What do you mean she left with him? Like...to go home with him?”

“No, they drove to the Hudson for late-night scuba diving,” Bazine scoffs, her friend extremely unimpressed. 

“Ha-ha,” Delphi rips off her own sunglasses. “And why I am here?”

Frustrated, Bazine starts finger combing her hair insistently. “To find the little slut! Benjamin Solo is _mine._ That was invite was for _me._ ”

Her friend just raises a eyebrow. “Why not just call the fucking police and file a missing person’s case if you’re that desperate.”

The idea enters her brain briefly, but Daddy will be pissed if Bazine gets in trouble with the American justice system for a _fourth_ time. 

She taps her chin, trying to reason through the options she has. 

“Maybe she’s still in the hotel…” Bazine starts, glancing around the lobby. 

Delphi joins her while they scan the dozens of faces and fur coats coming through the whirling doors. 

“What does she even look like?” Delphi asks. 

She tries to conjure up the girl’s face and features from the bathroom, during their ill-fated meeting. “Mousy. Brown hair. Short, but not too short. She was wearing a green dress.”

A few kids shout in the waiting area, distracting Bazine. 

_Ew, children._

Maybe they should start going up and down the floors, or maybe just go straight to the source-

“Hey Zizi?”

If they go up to the Penthouse and “mistakenly” knock on the door, there’s a chance Bazine could confront her right then and there-

“ _Bazine.”_

She hasn’t fought anyone with fists in a while, seeing that she’s in no position to ever need to, but Bazine is absolutely willing to throw a few punches, just for the satisfaction of watching her diamond rings splice open skin-

“BAZINE!” 

“What!?” she nearly screams back. 

Delphi points to the elevators. “Isn’t that her??”

Both woman hide behind the pillar next to the desk, watching as the girl leaves in a men’s button down, sweatpants and heels, all while holding that exact same emerald dress. 

“She’s in his _clothes!”_ Delphi half-whispers, _“_ That _slut!”_

She cradles one hand that’s wrapped in a bandage and it finally clicks for Bazine where she knows this mysterious woman from. 

_“_ That _slut_ is the goddamn maid, Delphi.”

The tinier woman gasps, grabbing at her throat. Bazine can hardly move too, frozen in her own shock. 

“ _Rachel?_ Our maid?”

They both watch the maid exit through the rotating door, nod to the doorman and then take off down the street. 

How would a maid get an invite to the Mayor’s ball? And then be able to afford the get-up she was in? The Senator would never sleep with someone as worthless as _her._

Something isn’t adding up. 

“We’re figuring this out right now.”

Bazine grabs Delphi by the arm _hard,_ and throws them into the elevator, pressing the PH button with a perfectly manicure nail. 

Delphi doesn’t say anything the ride up. Maybe because she can see the literal smoke fuming from Bazine’s head and knows not to poke the beast will it’s pissed. 

And Bazine is very, _very_ pissed. 

They scurry down the hallway, heels skittering on the polished floor. Their shoes are probably a combined worth of a small house and they using them to dash madly to a hotel room. 

Bazine bangs loudly against the door, both fists are clenched.

The two women are greeted to the sudden sight of the Senator, a lazy grin fixed on his face and a towel wrapped around his _very naked_ waist. 

“I was wondering where yo-”

He stops, his bare chest only inches away from Bazine’s nose. She tries not to take a overdramatic whiff but my _god,_ he smells like sandalwood and soap and _sex._ Her mouth threatens to water. 

“Oh, he- _llo_ Senator Solo,” Delphi says, breaking the moment. 

He looks down at them, confused and half-shutting the door. “Uh...who are you again? Is Rey with you?”

Bazine furrows her brows, thrown by the name. But it confirms her suspicions. 

“Rey?” She screeches. “She told me her name was _Rachel!_ ”

What else has this evil slut lied about? Maybe she’s not even a maid. Bazine hasn’t checked on her diamonds since she checked in earlier this week, but it’s not unheard of for a thief to pose as hotel staff and steal things right under a guest’s nose.

“So she’s been lying to you too!”

Benjamin awkwardly runs a hand through his hair, the smile completely gone. He sticks his head out a little further to look beyond the desolate hallway. “I don’t know a Rachel and-I’m sorry to interrupt whatever...this is, but I’m actually expecting someone else back here.”

Delphi crosses her arms. It’s great having a friend who can equally convey your anger.

“What?” She spits. “That _maid?”_

More confusion emits from Ben. “I-uh, I didn’t call for the maid.” He suddenly looks back to Bazine, eyes widening in familiarity. “ _Wait_. Aren’t you-?

“Netal. Bazine Netal.” She reminds him. How could Benjamin even _forget_ their amazing time together?

“We had that enchanting lunch a couple days ago, you must remember. I greeted you at the ball last night?”

_“You’re_ Bazine,” he flaty repeats.

She scoffs. This is getting ridiculous. “Do you want to see my passport or something? You’re distracting the point I’m trying to make. It’s _very_ urgent.”

He sighs, leaning against the door and rubs at his temples, all while still very much shirtless. “ _Fine._ What can I do for you, Ms. Netal?”

“You need to stop seeing that woman. Not only did she lie and tell me her name was _Rachel_ , but she stole _my_ invitation to the Mayor’s ball too!”

She expects Benjamin to shout or yell, the realization of the century hitting him. But he...doesn’t. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Stomping a foot, Bazine growls out, “Rachel- _Rey_ is a maid! _Our_ maid! She’s been cleaning my room, the Park suite, the entire time!”

Benjamin stares, silent for a solid minute. Then he _chuckles._

“Rey isn’t a maid, she told me she practically _lives_ here-”

“Because she _works_ at the hotel!” Delphi faithfully interrupts. “You’ve been duped Mr. Senator!” 

He’s dead silent. The only sound that fills the hall is Delphi’s and Bazine’s labored breaths. This may be the important day ever in Bazine’s love life and it _will_ go exactly as she sees fit. 

But then Benjamin starts to close the door. 

“Excuse me ladies, but I don’t enjoy having people show up to my doorstep and blatantly lie to me.” He frowns, gritting the words out. “Have a nice day.”

The door slams loud enough for Bazine’s bones to rattle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👁️👄👁️ ruh-roh

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if I get NY stuff wrong. I live in Los Angeles lol. 
> 
> kudos and comments are always loved! <3


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